Moth's Wings
by Crimson Bttrfly
Summary: Origin story for Byakuya and Hisana's relationship. Chapter 28: Hisana meets with a Kuchiki Elder. Slight AU.
1. Prologue

I do not own the rights to Bleach, and I do not profit from my endeavors.

* * *

**Moth's Wings**

**Prologue**

It began with an explosion.

It began as a spark in the night, and, then, everything was ablaze. Flames, angry and hot, began to devour the palace.

First, it began with the draperies. Then, it spread to the floors and, then, to the library. The flames licked at the large priceless tomes lining the shelves of the bookcases. It did not take long for the books to fall; their purpose transformed into kindling.

The fire was, indeed, transformative. The once quiet and dark estate was set aglow in a raucous maelstrom. As the fire spread, it sent its minion, smoke, ahead to scout the area. Grey tendrils crept into every nook and crevice, infiltrating rooms not yet devastated by the flames.

The hazy cloud began pouring into the princesses' bedroom. The two sisters had been safely tucked into bed only hours before. The elder girl-child, a mere adolescent, had been roused from sleep by the loud commotion outside of the room. Fearfully, she darkened the lights before moving to the window. She slid the window open and took a deep gulp of fresh air.

"What?" Her large doleful eyes searched for clues of what had befallen her family. Dark ominous figures moved in the background. She could not discern who or what they were. Everything was so bright - so terribly bright and so terribly hot. The waves of heat stung the young girl's eyes until her vision was bleary with tears.

"The baby," she gasped, looking back.

She could barely see the crib through the dense fog. The grey plume blanketed the room, making the air heavy and noxious. The young princess's throat and chest stung until she dissolved into a fit of coughs. The burning sensations sent her flying back to the window where she stuck her head out, filled her lungs with air until her cheeks ballooned out, and held her breath. Hastily, she took the plunge back into the room. Through half-lidded and teary eyes, she navigated the floor until she reached her bed. Hastily, she ripped sheets from her futon, bunched the fabric in her arms, and shoved it fast against the door. With a light caress, she felt the door. "Hot," she hissed.

A shriek sounded from the infant princess, alerting the older girl to the fact that time was a scarce commodity. She braced herself before taking a shallow breath. The air was gritty; it felt as if she was inhaling sand, and she began to cough violently.

Fumbling toward the crib, she gripped the smooth wooden post. Her small hands slid down the railing until they reached the swaddled baby. Tenderly, she stroked her sister's back. "I know, I know," she said in a soft sing-song cadence. "It is so hard." She grabbed the warm bundle, and cradled the infant in her wiry arms. "Shush," she exhaled in a long breath. She pulled a thin blanket over the child's nose and mouth.

A hair-raising cry let the elder sister know that the baby was far from pleased.

Gently, she kissed the top of her sister's head, "It is going to be okay." The words rang leaden. It was a false assurance, but, at that moment, it felt like the most adult thing to do.

Instinctively, she padded her way back to the window. Again, she poked out her head and gasped. After the coughing attack subsided, she sucked in a deep breath before withdrawing back into the room. She immediately scrutinized the window. Sizing up the dimensions, her brow furrowed at the prospect of escaping. 'I bet I can squeeze out of it.'

Narrowing her eyes, she found her resolve and placed her hand on the stool of the window. She meditated for a moment, visualizing what she must do next. She would have to be careful with the babe in her arms, but she could do it.

'No, I_ have_ to do it, she corrected herself. 'For our sake.'

She was about to hoist herself and the infant up to the ledge when her body was quickly pulled downward with great force. Her eyes snapped open. 'What?'

Her mouth was covered by a large calloused hand, and with a fluid yank her feet left the floor. Struggling proved futile against the strong arms that held her fast. "Let us go!" she screamed into the sweaty palm. In reality, her muffled cry sounded more like, "Lfmm urg oooo!"

"Quiet!" a low gruff voice answered back.

Her eyes widened. She remembered that voice. But, who was it? The young princess tried her mightiest to steal a glimpse of her captor, but her efforts proved futile. His grip proved to be her staying point. But, she _knew_ that voice. She knew the reiatsu enveloping her and her sister. In the panic of the moment, however, her mind could not ascertain her answer. Carefully, she ran through all the names of men who served her father.

'It must be_,'_ she thought in quiet alarm. 'It has to be!'

Before she had the time for her mind to fully carve the name out everything _stopped_. A dead still stop. Gone were the smoke and fire. The palace, too, was firmly out of sight. Only a column of smoke bending in the wind over the treetops could be seen to affirm that it was not a dream.

The man carefully placed the princesses on the ground. His hands instinctively fumbled with the wet towel he had wrapped around his head and face. Before he had the chance to unveil himself, the young princess announced his identity. "Isshin," she croaked; her throat hoarse and still stinging from inhaling the smoke.

The towel fell to his shoulders, revealing his face. A small smile thinned his lips at the girl's perspicacity. He nodded his head, and dropped to his knee. The two shared a long gaze, pregnant with meaning. While the princess may not have been able to adequately put the feeling into words, she understood his look. Things had changed, and not for the better…

"The child," he murmured, bending down to relieve the princess of the bundle.

Hesitantly, she acquiesced. "Is she alright?"

He pulled the blanket from the child's face. The baby had not made a sound since their departure, and he was worried that something had gone terribly awry. Glancing down upon the delicate soot-stained face, he could see that the female child was alert and breathing.

"She is strong," he replied, gazing back up at the older princess. They were both so young, he mused to himself. Too young. He placed a hand against the princess's shoulder. "You are going to have to trust me," he said.

She tried to appear supplicant, but her eyes belied her silent mortification. "Where is my father?" her small voice asked.

He stared deeply into her eyes. While it pained him to speak the truth, he knew it had to be done. He, however, did not have to return her gaze as he delivered the news. "He has left."

Her large blue eyes widened to the size of half dollars at the revelation. Reflexively, her hand shot up to her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle the sound of her cry. Shaking and exhausted, the young princess dropped to her knees, sobbing.

Isshin allowed her a moment to mourn, but he would be amiss if he let her dissolve into a crippling depression at that very moment. "Princess, we must go."

Trembling, she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. She glanced up at the captain imploringly. She appeared so small and innocent.

A pang of guilt pelted Isshin's heart as his gaze trailed from one girl to the other. A look of determination creased his face as he stared into the middle distance. He was uncertain how this would end, but he was sure he would give the two cherub-cheeked princesses a new beginning. It wouldn't be pretty; that much he knew. But, the girls had enough reiatsu to make it to the Academy. It was just getting from point A to point B.

He grimaced at the thought. The nets of the enemy, veiled and seemingly omnipotent, were closing in on them. He did not have much time. _They _did not have much time.

It was too dangerous…

With knitted brow and a sympathetic look, he appeared pensive, and he was. His brain was working a mile a minute to formulate a plan. It was a difficult undertaking for he only had a piece of the information necessary. There were missing parts - important fragments - that he was quite sure he needed. Isshin shook his head. His current information would have to suffice even if was incomplete.

Moments carried the weight of hours in their predicament; it was time for him to bite the bullet and take action. The scheme he had settled on wasn't perfect, he admitted silently to himself, but it would have to do. "We are leaving this place," he said softly, his voice losing its edge.

The young girl stared vacantly at him. Everything was gone. Her whole world had been ripped from her. She felt desolate. She did not know what she was doing or where she was going. All she knew was that her future now hinged on the purity of this one man's intentions.

She was in shock, he observed. He forced a smile and placed his hand on the top of her dark head. "We are going to play a game."

Her brow furrowed at the word, "game."

"You and your sister are going to be incognito for a while."

"In-cog-nito?" she rasped out. Her confusion was clear.

"Yep," he chirped. "You and your sister are going to _pretend_ to be other people." He could see the whites of her eyes the moment the words left his mouth. His attempt at spinning the situation was failing… miserably.

The young princess's mouth gaped, and her complexion blanched. Something was terribly wrong. Terribly, terribly, wrong, she thought to herself.

"We are going to have to pick out names for you and your sister," he stated evenly.

She stared at him like a whipped dog stares at an angry master.

"What name would you like?"

She remained silent. Fear had snapped every fiber of her body into rigid place, molding her body into a stiff and ramrod straight posture. She stood shackled by horror, staring unblinkingly into his weathered face. Her tongue had grown two sizes too thick in her mouth, and her throat was too parched for her to make a sound. Instead, she just trembled like a leaf in a rainstorm.

A genuine half-smile tugged at a corner of his mouth, and he closed his eyes. After a moment of silent meditation, he tried another approach. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small drinking flask. A few flicks of his wrist were all it took to unscrew the top, and, before the young princess could guess his next action, he poured some of the liquid over her head. "I anoint you Hisana," he said ceremoniously. "And you," he murmured gazing down into the babe's face, "will be Rukia." Gently, he drizzled some of the water over the child's head, cleansing the soot from her chubby cheeks.

In that cold tenebrous forest, the princesses were stripped of their noble rank and lineage. Every comfort they had ever known had disintegrated to ash. The remnants of what once was scattered like dust on an impetuous wind.

They had been born anew.


	2. Motives

Chapter 1: Motives

The fumbling screech of fingers sliding down the string of a banjo roused Hisana.

Buried deep under the water, she could feel the vibrations as the music carried on. Her eyelids flew back. Patchy light entered her vision. Without hesitation, she breached the surface. Her legs fluttered against the current until the sensitive skin of her feet grazed the smooth pebbles lining the bottom of the river.

Standing, the chilly spring air kissed her face and bare shoulders dry. The world around her was colored with bright shades of pink, green, yellow, and purple. The reflections of the wild flowers drifted on the lapping waters.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath. The sweet scent of honeysuckle and lavender was even more pungent where she had drifted. It was a rather remarkable day by most accounts. Hisana, however, paid the natural splendor little attention. Instead, her mind was trained like a laser-beam to a feeling resonating deep within her.

Feeling a light breeze swirl against her bare flesh, she shut her eyes and smiled lazily. She knew the cause for the sudden drop in pressure. She knew what belied the playful wind.

'_He is here.'_

* * *

Byakuya Kuchiki was a man who enjoyed few pleasures. Chit-chatting was not one of them. He believed conversation was an art; brevity was the soul of wit. However, at that very moment, small talk was necessitated by the presence of Jushiro Ukitake, Shunsui Kyoraku, Retsu Unohana, and Ginrei Kuchiki, Byakuya's grandfather. All, save for Shunsui, wore grave expressions. The Captain of the Eighth maintained his usual visage of drunkenness.

It was a rare occasion. Few in Soul Society possessed the strength and ability to even consider testing for the position of Vice Captain. Fewer, still, passed to take up the mantle.

It _was_ his birthright. Byakuya silently reminded himself of this fact. It was his _duty_ to serve the Sixth Division in whatever capacity his ability would allow.

He would not stop until he was Captain like his grandfather before him and his father before him. Even if it meant his life, he would not cease in his efforts. See, Byakuya Kuchiki was a very irascible and stubborn man. He hid the irascible part of his personality well enough; his stubbornness, on the other hand, he did not.

"Captain Kuchiki has alerted us to the fact that you are ready to complete the Vice-Captaincy test." It was Unohana's gentle voice that shattered the silence.

Byakuya nodded his head, "Yes."

"As is customary, the committee will decide your fitness for the position. You are given the option to either perform a field test or the standardized test," Ukitake said, a small conciliatory smile lengthened his lips.

Upon seeing the smile, Byakuya pricked up. His body tensed, every muscle snapped into rigid tension, and his posture grew even straighter. _'Do I look that nervous?' _he questioned himself. _'Why else would Ukitake smile like that?_' he rebuked himself.

Acutely aware that a suffocating silence had fallen over the room, Byakuya pulled himself from his inner dialogue to answer the Captain of the Thirteenth, "I would prefer," but he was quickly interrupted.

"It will not be to your preference," his grandfather stated quite clearly, taking care to crisply enunciate each word. "No, you will be given the field test, a test that was made to our specifications some time ago for this very occasion."

Byakuya's eyes widened, and his lips parted. He was taken aback by the decision. "Yes," he said. He lowered his head, hoping to shield his look of shock.

'_What did this mean?'_ he could not help but wonder.

'_A test made specifically for this occasion?'_

Byakuya's mind was quickly taking a mental inventory - scrutinizing and replaying every word, each syllable - in an attempt to discern what it was they were trying to tell him.

"Do you accept these conditions?" Ginrei asked.

Byakuya's head bobbed up inelegantly. The nonplussed expression that creased his face moments before had only deepened. Searchingly, Byakuya's eyes darted to his grandfather's worn face. There was nothing – the elder Kuchiki's face told Byakuya not a thing.

At length Byakuya nodded his head, "Yes."

"Good. You will be briefed by a solider of the Thirteenth. Your task begins immediately."

Byakuya bowed his head. "Yes, Captain Kuchiki."


	3. Curs in the Weeds

**Chapter 2: Curs in the Weeds**

The canopy of brush blotted out the sun. Periodically, patches of light would bleed through the treetops and break the shade beneath. However, the further he continued into the forest the darker it became.

Byakuya had not paid his surroundings much attention until he crossed into the 28th District. Everything was a blur – a swirl of yellows, greens, and blues – just like the Seireitei. However, the moment he hit the 28th, the scenery changed. Gone were the earthy colors of the more affluent districts; they had been replaced with warm reds, yellows, and oranges. The lands were barren. Desert spanned large portions of some of the districts. And the air was heavy and thick. It was like inhaling dirt.

The scenery shifted again when he entered the Endless Forest. He had heard stories about the forest from some of his subordinates. They moaned about having to traverse the area. It was long. The land was uneven and rocky, and there were stretches that were dark.

Byakuya had been skeptical of the stories, usually told in drunken tongues during the late hours. However, at the moment, he was wracking his brain to recall any useful information.

He did remember something one of his subordinates had said about the District. Besides being sylvan and undeveloped, there was a small town located near a river. The town was known for its gangs, gambling, and prostitution.

'_Aka-Name.'_ The name came to him almost reflexively; it was the town's name. _'Such a strange name…'_

Momentarily, he wondered why the Second Division's intelligence zeroed in on that town. He had, at first, thought his Grandfather, wise and venerable, had set out to teach him a lesson on humility with the mission. And, perhaps, that was true. But, there had to be reason why the Second was so sure that Aka-Name was important. Surely, they were not merely wasting his time. The field tests were true missions – advanced missions. However, he was the heir to one of the Five Families…

Pushing forward through the bramble, Byakuya brushed the thought aside; instead, his mind settled on the facts of his mission: The Second Division had sent a small detail to transport a relic that had once belonged to the King. The escort, however, had been neutralized in transit, and the relic had been stolen. The bodies of all but the two spies had been recovered. One of the spies was presumed dead. The other? The Second believed it had reliable information suggesting that the other spy was an accomplice to the crime.

Byakuya scrutinized the facts in his head once more. The intelligence was incomplete, and it made him uncomfortable. He had asked and been refused access to information regarding the relic itself. It was probably the first time in his life that he had been told that he was to be appraised of the mission on a need-to-know-basis. As in, what the captains thought he needed to know they would tell him.

He also had not been fully briefed on the spies. He was armed with knowledge of their soubriquets and little else. Apparently, the Second did not like keeping detailed files on their spies. The official reason 'on the books' was because they were, well, _spies_. Byakuya, however, had a suspicion that the true reason was a little more pragmatic - the spies did not survive long enough to merit the trouble of the _paperwork_.

It was so vexing. Byakuya believed that success was conditioned on preparation and opportunity. He was confident in his skills; however, he was unsure of what awaited him in the 71st District.

He did not like this test.

It felt like a _trap_…

Byakuya gave an imperceptible shake of his head, retreating from his inner mental sanctum. The forest was beginning to break. Rays of light, no longer isolated and suffocated by foliage, poured down from above. Unconsciously, Byakuya was comforted by the sudden change. That comfort, however, quickly dissipated.

For no discernible reason, Byakuya felt his legs buckle under the weight of his flash-step. Reflexively, he darted quickly to the right before skidding to a halt. Scanning the forest, his muscles took on a familiar battle pose. He stood with his center of gravity low; his feet were firmly planted under his hips. For a moment, he thought he felt an atmospheric shift. The air was thick and humid, and a light mist floated around him.

Naturally, his hand felt for Senbonzakura's hilt.

_Nothing_.

A chilly panic swept through him. Byakuya's eyes widened to the size of half-dollars.

"You should see your face!" an unfamiliar voice called to him.

Byakuya's gazes darted up to see a dark-haired woman resting lazily on a tree branch. She was suspended only a few feet above his head, and in her hand was his prized sword. He wondered how long she had been tailing him.

Recognizing that he was nonplussed, the strange woman shifted forward. Her legs, once stretching the length of the branch, dangled down until she was straddling the limb. "You're fast," she stated, staring into the polished metal of his blade.

Byakuya raised his head. The muscles around his lips and eyes tightened, drawing his features into a look of strained disapprobation. He could almost taste _blood_.

She laughed. "A lot of the others were fast too." Her gaze never turned from Senbonzakura. Playfully, she opened her mouth and blew a puff of hot air against the blade. The metal fogged for a moment. She then tucked her hand into the sleeve of her kimono and she polished the sword.

Byakuya stared at her; his eyes wide and his breath caught. With every touch of Senbonzakura, Byakuya was certain his spiritual pressure intensified. Even Senbonzakura was reacting to his distress; the sword shone a pale pink against the woman's kimono.

"Around here that just means you'll die quicker." She sat up and folded her arms against her chest. She looked like a cat who found triumph in an easy kill. She looked like a self-satisfied cat.

But, Byakuya was _not_ her mouse. "Who are you?" he growled. His eyes narrowed into slits.

"This is a really nice weapon."

"Is that a _threat_?" Byakuya had a low threshold for insubordination. He considered releasing a low powered fire or binding spell, reclaiming his sword, and leaving.

Glancing down at Byakuya, the woman flashed a knowing smile. "No threat. A challenge perhaps…"

That was it. Byakuya was deciding which spell would be the most effective when the woman absconded with Senbonzakura in a blur.

She had only gotten a few a paces on him before he gave chase.

Blood pulsed in his veins. His heart hammered a heavy rhythm in his chest. It would have been a lie to say Byakuya was not confused. Byakuya was very confused as to what had happened and how he had let the situation spiral out of control. But, for the first time in many years, he felt the rush of adrenaline flow through him, and he was reminded of a past friendship.

Unsurprisingly, it did not take long for Byakuya to be within grasping distance of his beloved sword. He concluded that her spiritual power was strong enough to sustain a flash-step, but, ultimately, she was weak. She was quick game.

The woman, however, did something quite unusual. She stopped, sidestepped, and held his sword out for capture. Shocked by the behavior, his mind moved a mile a minute to ascertain a reason. Instinctively, he reclaimed his sword, but, in doing so, came screeching to a halt.

The smell of burned earth and the fog of dust eclipsed Byakuya's eyes momentarily. "A trap?" he murmured to himself, catching a glimpse of a large crowd that had gathered around.

As the dust cleared, Byakuya could hardly believe himself. She had led him into the middle of the town. The ruckus must have summoned the townspeople from their shops because a group of men and women lined both sides of the street.

"I found a new sword for hire!" she announced proudly. The moment her words were understood by the crowd, two large groups of men armed with swords gathered on either side of Byakuya.

Byakuya's eyes widened at the pronouncement, and he shot the woman a steely glance.

'_What does she want?'_

Byakuya regretted his inattentiveness to his subordinates' stories about Aka-Name.


	4. The Wild Ones

**Chapter 3: The Wild Ones**

His cover was blown sky high. Not that it mattered much . . . or so he told himself, feeling the stitching of his hilt pressed against his palm.

His gaze shifted back and forth between the two hordes of miscreants. The air was thick and still.

No one had any spiritual pressure to speak of, and he was willing to bet his namesake that none of them knew how to use the weapons they clutched so tightly in their hands. Half of them were mishandling their swords as it was, and the other half looked mortified. These men were not trained mercenaries. They were mere boys playing soldiers with brittle and chipped blades.

Byakuya could dispatch the horde in his sleep.

But… is that what that strange woman wanted? What the hell was this? A test? Was he supposed to blow his cover so spectacularly?

Byakuya assumed not. This was a test of strategy, right?

If he killed all of the thugs then he risked losing leads. His mission was to recover the spy and the relics; it was not to get into a pissing contest with the locals. What would that yield if he won anyway?

'_There is something here.'_ Byakuya's eyes narrowed. _'What is it?'_ Flicking his gaze up, he searched the crowd to find the strange woman. To his amusement, she had disappeared. _'Typical.' _ He had a feeling that she had a part to play in all of this. But what? She had mentioned that the ones who had come before him had been slain, and, on that account, she was speaking honestly. Once the Second Division realized the _situation,_ they sent three of their men to clean up the mess, and all of them came back in pieces. At least three men, Byakuya noted silently. The Second was not known for keeping detailed records of their activities, or at least making those records available to those outside of Suì-Fēng's purview.

So she knew of the other Shinigami, but what did that mean? Clearly, none of the Second had fallen to the likes of these reprobates. But, _something_ had killed them…

Shaking the thoughts aside, Byakuya turned his attention back to the skirmish that he was the center of. Reflexively, he had fallen into a strange rhythm – the gang of men on his right would scuttle toward him and he would shift forward only for them to retreat. Then, the gang on his left would move boldly toward his back, and, when he challenged them, they too quickly retreated.

Growing bored, Byakuya stepped out of his battle stance and dropped his sword to his side. "When bravado bests what little prudence you possess, alert me." Byakuya, then, turned his back on the men and began toward a small shabby hut with a faded sign reading, "Spirits & Food."

Before Byakuya could cross the sandy road to the restaurant, he stopped dead, drew his sword, and diverted the path of the shuriken that was singing toward his head. The shuriken ricocheted off a metal post before lodging in the head of a large brutish-looking gang-member. Upon impact, the man's eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed in heap; a cloud of dust engulfed the gang on the left.

Byakuya lifted his head and shot the men a menacing stare that promptly sent the entire hoard scurrying for shelter. Some of the men jumped out of their shoes; others frantically dropped their weapons before fleeing.

Byakuya turned on his heel, shaking his head. _'I hope no Shinigami died at the hands of these men…' _

Upon entering the restaurant, it took a moment for Byakuya's eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the dank shack, but sure enough, as he suspected, there stood the woman from the woods. She was shorter than he remembered, standing at scarcely 5 feet. Her hair pinned up, and her kimono was covered over with a pressed apron. In her hand was a decanter of sake, and playing across her lips was a knowing grin.

She elicited a visceral feeling from within him. And, he was sure it was pure hatred. _'Meddling woman.'_

"Sir, sir!" An aged man from behind the bar came forward. He walked hunched over feeble knotty legs. What little hair the man was bright white and circled his bald liver-spotted head. His eyes sparked under bushy grey brows, and he gave a wily smile. "Please, let me serve you!"

Byakuya sheathed his sword and moved to the window. The wooden blinds were shut, but a flick of his finger against the rotten wood opened them easily enough. Byakuya recoiled and examined his hand to see a thick patina of dirt stained his fingers from touching the blinds. His stomach turned at the idea of eating at such an establishment.

But, before he could argue the man had filled a basket with onigiri. The woman dutifully poured a cup of sake for him.

"20 bronze coins," the man announced, holding out his hands.

Byakuya fished in his pocket, only to come to the cold realization that his money had been lifted. He glared at the woman for a moment.

"Nothing!" the man cried. "Shinigami always have money," he grumbled, quickly grabbing the basket of onigiri from the table.

The woman offered Byakuya a weak smile. "Sergio," she called, withdrawing a few coins from her apron pockets, "it is on me." No doubt that the coins originally belonged to Byakuya…

The man's eyes widened with glee at the sight of money. "Oh, you are a dear, Hisana."

"I am sure our guest will repay me once he cleans up Aka-Name."

Byakuya gave "Hisana" a bemused over-the-shoulder scowl. "You presume too much."

"He speaks!" she giggled. "You should use that noble voice to challenge those gangs over there to a duel."

His right eye twitched at the _suggestion_.

"Or, are you like those _other_ Shinigami…"

"Hisana!" Sergio growled, "don't invite the foreigner into any of the town's affairs. I am sure he has no interest in the woe that befalls our poor town due to these gangs that have invaded and have displaced our most magnanimous of mayors." Sergio jutted his chin in the direction of a couple sitting across the bar. Byakuya missed the two before due to the heavy shade that loomed over that corner of the room. But, sitting at a small round table was a forlorn-looking man dressed in an expensive kimono and an attractive woman, who was comforting the man.

Byakuya looked askance at Hisana.

"Mayor Fujiwara and his daughter, Yoko," she answered in a hushed voice. "The mayor has been abroad to bury his wife. When he returned, the gangs had purchased the police's support, and he has been unsuccessful in overcoming the gangs' rule. His daughter, Yoko, is doing what she can to restore her father to power."

"We can hear you, Hisana," Yoko chastised over her father's cries. Yoko lifted her head, allowing Byakuya to see her features with greater ease. She was beautiful in an _obvious_ sort of way, he noted to himself. Her lips were full and painted a bright vermillion; her skin pale; her eyes dark; and her hair was long with the sides pinned up with ornate kenzashi.

"My apologies, Ms. Yoko," Hisana said giving a shallow bow.

Byakuya crossed the room. "So these gangs, who are they?"

Mayor Fujiwara looked up briefly, and, momentarily, he scoffed down a cry. He pointed to the window, on the left. "Yama-" his voice then broke into a shrill sob.

Comforting her father with a tender hug, Yoko continued where her father had failed, "The Yamagumi gang is headed by Shinobu. The Sumigawa gang," she began pointing to the right side of the window, "is headed by Shinoda. The Yamagumi deal in arms, gambling, and prostitution. The Sumigawa deal in arms, gambling, and prostitution," Yoko explained evenly.

"There are two gangs that offer the same services and operate next door to one another," Byakuya asked, skeptically.

Hisana crossed her arms in front of her torso and shook her head, "It's a poor business model for sure."

"Here are the clan symbols, sir," Sergio said, shuffling across the room with two banners in his hands.

Byakuya looked down at symbols.

"The red and orange one that looks like a giant middle finger is the Yamagumi's, and the pink and brown one that looks like a clump of grass belongs to the Sumigawa," Hisana noted.

"Unfortunate choices," Byakuya said, his lips turning down in dismay.

"The colors clash," Hisana added.

Yoko cleared her voice so as to draw attention. "Any way," she began dramatically, "we need help in reclaiming Aka-Name, sir. Would you kindly oblige where your comrades could not?"

Byakuya turned his gaze to the woman. He stared at her blankly, ruthlessly calculating the costs and benefits to such a deed. On the surface, he did not stand much to gain by neutralizing the gangs; he also did not have much to lose.

"Time is of the essence," Yoko stated, taking care to enunciate each word clearly. Lifting her head, she gave an authoritative look, "I know Shinobu has retrieved some instrument of chaos, and he plans on using it to subject the people of Aka-Name and the people of the River Basin to his gang's rule. If he succeeds, our hope of reclaiming Aka-Name is destroyed."

Byakuya's eyes perceptibly widened. _'An instrument of chaos… surely…'_

Perhaps purging the town of the degenerates would prove to be mutually beneficial.


	5. Foolish Games

**Chapter 4: Foolish Games**

Hisana moved to the window near the tavern's door. Cocking her head to the side, she peered through the slats in the blinds. The soft rays of afternoon sun crept into the room from between the blinds, bathing the room in a golden hue.

Byakuya watched her imperceptibly. She looked as if she was going to say something.

Her gaze trailed from the window to Byakuya. She smiled at him, knowingly, and her brows rose in anticipation. "Your first _offer_ no doubt," she said, her smile lingering longer than he preferred.

'_Offer…'_ Before he could complete the thought, a tall plump man walked into the bar. His kimono was dirty; he was unshaven, and his hair was pulled up in an unkempt knot. His arms were pulled deep into his kimono, leaving the sleeves empty and freely waving to and fro as he continued into the room.

Byakuya's gaze settled on the limp sleeves.

"Your fingers itch for a sword?" The man spoke cryptically and in deep intonations.

Byakuya acknowledged the man's question by staring into the man's face.

"You have a price no doubt?" the man continued.

"You could not afford the price of my blade." Byakuya murmured, eyes trained like a laser on the plump man's half-lidded eyes. _Drunk, no doubt_, Byakuya thought to himself. A twinge of scorn rose in his stomach at the thought of a half-witted warrior purchasing _his_ skills.

Hisana gaped for a moment. "Sirs, please, we do not speak of such things in the presence of _ladies_." She tried to conceal her harried demeanor by elevating the pitch of her voice.

Simultaneously, both Byakuya and the plump man shot her scorching looks.

"Also, for the purposes of keeping the tavern a neutral zone, the proprietor does not allow for talk of _business_ on his premises."

'_A more credible explanation_,' Byakuya noted to himself in a clipped thought.

"Silence, woman," the plump man hissed.

"The lady is correct," the old tavern owner growled from behind the bar. "If you speak of such things you are considered henceforth a trespasser."

"What are you gonna do about that," the plump man state flatly, puffing his chest out.

"Send word to the Yamagumi that you are trying to buy off this swordsman. No doubt he is very good, given that he downed one of your men only moments ago with little more than a flick of his wrist. I am sure they would like to know of your price and offer more. Or, worse, they will know that he has rejected you…"

The plump man glowered at Sergio. His left eyelid twitched out of irritation—as if the old man had just exposed a cleverly strategized plan. His eye-line then shifted toward Byakuya. As if the room was in tight synchrony, everyone's attention turned to Byakuya, who had taken a seat.

Arms folded, chin tucked to his neck, and face emotionless, Byakuya leveled his gaze at Hisana. He had a sinking suspicion that the incessant glint in her eye was more than a personality quirk. She unnerved him more than the armies of idiots across the street. _'Why?'_ his mind scrutinized the self-imposed question for a brief second before narrowing his gaze on Yoko. Maybe he was just thrown by Yoko? She seemed more self-possessed than Hisana; she seemed more powerful. Maybe she was the true conman behind whatever scam that the tavern was surely running? Perhaps Hisana was merely Yoko's lackey? He considered myriad possibilities. None of them were satisfying, and his astute mind ascertained no solution. But, there was one thing of which he _was certain_—Hisana, Yoko, and Sergio were more dangerous than the rival gangs and their dueling intentions.

"_So_," the plump man growled, interrupting Byakuya's musings. Clearly, he was waiting on Byakuya's response. "I will offer you a handsome prize."

"Again!" Hisana spat. "About the tavern's policy."

Byakuya's gaze slowly traveled across the room to the plump man's marked face. He scowled at the offering. _'A prize,'_ he thought ruefully to himself. _'Whatever that means.' _ He was not pleased about the inexactitude.

After a lengthy pause, Byakuya muttered an unconvincing, "I will consider it."

The plump man's head shot up. He tilted his chin up. A look of satisfaction thinned his lips into a half-smile. "Good," he murmured quietly, more so to himself than to Byakuya, "the offer expires at sunset tomorrow."

Byakuya gave an imperceptible brow-check at the man's bravado. _'An expiration?'_ He was unsure whether to be insulted by the implied threat or whether to be baffled by the man's boldness. "And if I do not accept by that time?" he asked in a measured breath.

"You will be considered a foe, and you will endure our animus."

Byakuya's eyelids fell at the mere suggestion that he would "endure" anything save boredom.

"Enough!" Yoko barked, slamming her pale hands against the wood of the table. "Do you not understand that the tavern is not complicit in your dealings!" Leaning forward on her palms, she jerked her head up in a sharp movement. Her once perfectly coiffed mane ruffled with her quick movement. She stared at the plump man with a look of unbridled hatred.

Byakuya's brows furrowed at Yoko's demonstration.

The plump man gave her a broken smile, sliding his tongue across the few top teeth that remained in his head. "Is it true about what they say? About you and Shinobu's son, Rikki?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she gave a primal scream at the very thought. Within the bat of an eye, Hisana was across the room. Her arms enveloped Yoko in a comforting embrace. She gave the plump man an icy sidelong glare. And, for a brief moment, Byakuya could feel Hisana's reiatsu spike. It was faint in comparison to a trained Shinigami, but it was enough to sting her opponent. The plump man's expression quickly soured—his lips drooped into a grimace—and he quickly turned his cheek, as if he had been slapped.

"You watch your back around here," he growled in Byakuya's direction before exiting the tavern.

In a rare moment, Byakuya sat unable to comprehend the display. This place made him question everything, and he did not like it. He did not like Aka-Name one bit.

· · · ·

Time ticked slowly away. From where Byakuya stood, everyone appeared to be in a stage of "happening." Yoko, the Mayor, and Sergio were eagerly waiting for _something to happen_. Hisana, on the other hand, appeared to be considering _what had happened_ and _what was currently happening_ among the gangs.

In the meantime, Byakuya was plied with plenty of drink and rice balls courtesy of Yoko. The ousted Mayor hailed him as the town's savior. Sergio counted the Mayor's money from behind the bar, mumbling something about making a "killing" from what was about to happen. Hisana stood pressed against the wall, staring intensely through the openings in the blinds. She was still, too still for Byakuya's liking. Half of the time she seemed to blend into her surroundings, and he forgot that she was even in the room.

Byakuya's thoughts grew hazy from drink. Part of him—the reckless, hot-headed part of him that he labored to kill and bury—rose with each passing moment. It urged him to continue to drink—drink in the sake, drink in Yoko's beauty, drink in the intensity of Hisana's face. Any battle against the gang members would be fought far more fairly if he was drunk, he reasoned. He was merely handicapping. Yet with each passing sip, he was acutely aware that he was doing the "Wrong Thing."

Drowsy, his gaze fumbled across the room to where Hisana stood. Deeply entrenched in her inner world, she looked poised to attack like a cat, patiently waiting for her prey to make the wrong move. The change in her was stark. She shed her comically bubbly persona without a passing thought. Now, she stood aloof yet penetratingly focused. She cut a cold figure—a strangely familiar cold figure.

For a moment, he was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. He knew that look. He had seen his mother wearing that same expression when she waited for his father to return from drills. At the time, he did not know why she always looked so painfully attentive.

Byakuya blinked, as if blinking would cure him of the warm drunken feelings of déjà vu that had ensnared him.

"Don't mind Hisana," Yoko cooed, tugging at his sleeve. "She's a psychopath, really," Yoko's syllables began to collide together.

Thoughtlessly, Byakuya reached for his cup, but, right as his hand was about to grasp the rough clay exterior, he felt nothing. The tingling nerves of his palm registered only cold air. A bolt of electricity seared through him. The warm sinking pit in his stomach that was fed by a healthy dosing of alcohol was quickly combated by adrenaline. In a moment of brilliant clarity, his gaze narrowed on Hisana. She stood a hairsbreadth away, looming over him with his cup in hand. With sharp disjointed movements, she threw her head back and downed the sake in a single shot. She then slammed the cup on the table.

Hands on hips and head tilted to the left, she pursed her lips, "You're drunk," she announced of Byakuya.

"Of course he is!" Yoko said, garbling her words and gesticulating wildly with her arms. The sleeves of her kimono slapped her in the face. "There's nothing to do now but drink. Shinobu isn't due back into town until tomorrow morning. The Yamagumi won't make an offer until Shinobu's back. Rikki's a coward."

"That is not what I heard," Hisana murmured tensely under her breath, eyeing Yoko with a sinister look.

Yoko, too drunk to notice the veiled barb, waved her hand in Hisana's direction, nearly hitting Byakuya as she did so. "See? Psychopath. No fun."

Ignoring Yoko's ramblings, Hisana turned her attention to Byakuya. "We have a lodging space in the back," Hisana said, forcing a polite tenor. "You look tired."

Byakuya was pretty sure that "tired" was code for "uselessly drunk."

"Hisana!" Sergio snarled from across the bar. "That costs _money_."

She glared at Sergio, but before she could launch a vitriolic remark, Byakuya stood, tossing a few coins on the table.

Hisana's eyes widened at the action. Overwhelmed by the sudden feeling that something was amiss, she felt against her breast pocket. At the realization that Byakuya had reclaimed his money, a smile played across her lips. Her gaze flitted up to his face, and, for a brief moment, she could have sworn that he was grinning at her in amusement.

"I'll fetch some clean sheets," she said playfully skirting ahead of Byakuya. She clasped her hands in front of her, demurely.

Byakuya watched her carefully. From the bounce in her step, he was certain that her bubbly persona had returned. _'Coquettish over stealing? Maybe Yoko isn't too far off about her…_' Fighting off the warm numbness of drink, Byakuya squeezed his eyelids shut and took a few deep breaths as he slowly trailed behind Hisana.

Like an excited squirrel, she scurried from room to room ahead of him, retrieving the linens for his bed. She became a darting blur to him until he crossed the threshold to the lodging quarters. Before his eyes could adjust to the darkness of the room, she appeared before him, cradling a pile of folded white sheets against her chest. He watched her quickly set a futon for him.

"This is my room," her voice dropped at the last word. "So don't set the place on fire," she warned.

He blinked as if she had lapsed into a different language. "Your own room? For what?" he asked, stupefied as to why a spirit with such a meager amount of reiatsu would have a need for a futon and room.

"To sleep." Hisana's brows knitted together, and she looked at him as if he had sprouted another head—the reason being so dumb-obvious. After administering a dismayed shake of her head, she turned on her heel to leave.

Hisana was almost a pace across the threshold when she felt an icy breeze hit her in the face. Her eyes widened, and she released a small gasp upon realizing that Byakuya's reiatsu began to swell. The air around her became cold and stifling. She struggled to breathe, and, before she could take another step, she felt him pull her back by the arm.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced for the inevitable impact of her back against the wall behind her. It was not as harsh as she had expected, but he had her firmly in his grasp. Feeling his body and spirit pressing against her, the tension in her muscles went slack. For some unfathomable reason, any fear that she would have otherwise felt drained from her body.

She opened her eyes to find his face mere centimeters from hers. She could not detect a trace of anger or malevolence in him. Instead, he stared down at her as if he had confirmed his suspicions.

Hisana's face tightened, comprehending what had just happened. Upon feeling vulnerable, her fight-or-flight system was triggered, and, for a brief moment, she emitted far more reiatsu than she was willing to admit to having. At least, willing to admit to _him_.

'_Oh, no,'_ her inner voice gasped. _'My cover… I hope he is drunker than I originally thought…'_

Byakuya looked down at her, knowingly. She had exposed herself to have at least unranked Shinigami-level abilities. She was certainly hiding _something_. Yet having discerned what he had intended to learn, he was slow to release her from his grasp. For some reason, the gentle pulse of her reiatsu against his felt comforting.

'_I am intoxicated.'_ Byakuya thought ruefully to himself.


	6. Choices

**Chapter Five: Choices**

The warm effulgence of the morning rays swept across the room, painting the walls and floors a golden hue. Reflexively, Byakuya's eyelids squeezed together. A soft moan escaped his mouth, and he lifted his arm to shield his face from the light.

It burned.

'_Of course there are no window dressings_,' his inner voice chastised.

_Of course his mission was in the hinterlands. _

_Of course this was a Division Two Mission and there was no reconnaissance. _

_Of course he was badly hung over because he had no fucking clue what he was doing in the middle of nowhere._

_Of course…_

The list could have gone on.

Agitated with the incessant pounding in his head, Byakuya finally submitted to the sun's demands to wake. _'That woman… she knew that this would happen.'_ In his somnolent state, Byakuya wasn't quite sure what the "this" was, but he was sure that Hisana was behind it. And it was a horrible machination.

Sitting up, Byakuya reevaluated his last mental diatribe. It was absurd, his more rational mind reasoned. _'She gave you a place to sleep… But…'_ Going through the past day's events, Byakuya had a sinking feeling that he was missing _something_. Something significant was no longer in his mental inventory.

He shoved the covers back, and fumbled to his feet. His head still pounded, and he could feel the drum of his pulse in ears. A feeling of self-loathing washed over him as he reached for his clothing.

'_This is going to be a bad day.'_

. . . .

"How was your sleep?" Sergio asked from behind the bar counter.

The words sounded slow, deconstructed—almost mechanical—to Byakuya's ears. Slowly, he turned his head. Despite the feeling that he was running on a delay, Byakuya managed to shoot the tavern owner a disaffected stare.

"If you follow the path on the left a few furlongs you will find a soothing bathing falls." Yoko sat at one of the tables in front of the window. Her fingers combing through her damp tresses as she spoke.

Before Byakuya could react, she had tossed him a towel. "Here, I brought this for you."

Byakuya inspected the white towel.

"It is clean so don't worry," she stated, already anticipating his next thought, "but hurry. Shinobu is due in town soon. I suspect that he will send a man to make an offer on your services."

Byakuya's lips turned down at the corners at the thought of having to waste time on the local gangs. If the mission was about neutralizing the gangs then it seemed almost too easy. He was almost certain that he could trick the gangs into destroying each other. He would not have to so much as whet his blade.

'_How simple.'_

Unthinkingly, Byakuya slung the towel over his shoulder and moved toward the tavern's threshold. Rolling the door back, he was engulfed by the bright morning light.

It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the blinding light, but, despite being otherwise blind, he had wound his way down the path on the left. The path was constructed of dirt, littered with sharp broken branches, and it was uneven. Byakuya presumed that it was not an "official" path that had been thoughtfully fashioned but rather it had been created from overuse.

Nonetheless, it ended at a large basin of water. A few meters out was a small waterfall; the cliffs of which were likely about a few hundred meters high. The waterfall itself was a lazy one, which made it optimal for bathing.

Byakuya continued toward a large flat rock. Slipping off his footwear, he noticed a small tidy pile of clothing on the far edge of the rock. He paused for a moment to inspect the clothing; the kimono had a delicate cherry blossom print embroidered the light blue fabric. It was clearly a female's clothing, and where there was clothing there was a person nearby.

Byakuya's brows knitted together. Had he missed something? Upon a cursory scan of the area, he had not noticed anyone nearby. Again, he panned the falls, and that is when he saw her.

'_Hisana?'_

She was perched on the flat stone ledge where the water fell from the cliffs. Her back was facing him, but he knew it was Hisana. He stared at her for a moment. Her skin slick from the water, and her black hair trailed down her back, creating a nice contrast with her pale skin. She looked like a porcelain doll—petite with fine features. She was thin, and her body had soft curves, but her back and legs were well-defined from use—a look common to the females of the Onmitsukidō.

Feeling her skin heat under his gaze, Hisana turned her head and looked askance at him. Unsurprised, she continued to rinse her hair.

Byakuya lifted his head upon making brief eye contact with her. He was uncertain of whether she was embarrassed or annoyed by him. On first glance, she appeared indifferent, and her gaze was merely signaling that she was aware of his presence. Modesty was not common among the Shinigami, where male and female soldiers had to spend so much time together. But, he was unsure of the customs outside Seireitei.

"So you are Byakuya Kuchiki,"Hisana announced in a strong clear voice.

Byakuya's brows furrowed at her proclamation. _'How would she know?'_ Instantly, his suspicions of her ratcheted up a few notches.

In his confusion, his watch over her faltered, and, when he looked up to find her near the falls, she had disappeared.

"You look so confused," Hisana giggled.

His eyeline quickly followed the sound of her voice to find her swimming toward him. Her strokes were graceful and soundless.

"When I poached your…well…_everything…_ a few days ago, I found your badge," she said breezily.

His eyes widened, perceptibly so, which elicited a small chuckle from Hisana.

"It is over there," she said, tilting her head in the direction of her clothes folded on the flat rock, "in the pocket of my kimono." Before she had the time to get the words out, he had his badge firmly in hand. His eyes were searching the badge.

"I assumed you were Byakuya. The Kuchiki kamon is displayed prominently on the badge," she said, wrapping a towel tightly around her.

"Perhaps you assume too much," he murmured under his breath.

"Perhaps, but unlikely," she said, grinning mischievously. "And if you Byakuya Kuchiki, then that is Senbonzakura." Hisana jerked her chin up, spying the sword.

"How do you know all of this?" His voice edged on demanding.

"The Five Noble Families are known throughout the entire Soul Society. Here in the Rukon districts, we may not know the exact faces, but we surely know there is a top to our hellish bottom. Plus, they sell memorabilia of the Five Houses everywhere. Your family kamons are no secret to anyone who has ever been to a marketplace."

Byakuya searched her face with an intense gaze. He looked as if he wanted to will her out of existence.

Either immune to or disinterested in his scorching gaze, Hisana sat on the edge of the rock and began wringing her hair. "I would burn that badge if you want to remain anonymous. Things have a funny way of catching up to us around these parts."

"What else do you know?" His stare was unrelenting.

"I know that the Kuchiki clan is in charge of the Sixth Division; therefore, you are here on business. I know that you want to remain anonymous. I know that something strange happened in these parts a few months ago, and that the local gangs have been scrambling to purchase some relic from around these parts. I know that the last few details of Shinigami have fallen to whatever Big Bad has been released here."

Byakuya looked her over; his gaze softened. She was pretty in a quirky sort of way, sitting on the rock with her arms cradling her legs and staring into the middle distance. If he had not known better, he would have thought that the look that passed her face was an expression of personal sadness for the fallen Shinigami.

"You can go bathe. I will watch over your items," she said, not bothering to look at him as she spoke.

"That is not necessary."

She challenged his assumption with a sidelong gaze.

"Your items were left unmolested," he retorted.

Somewhere in his observation, Hisana could almost hear the words, "and you are a _woman_." The words were left unsaid, but she was sure that they lingered there—an unspoken sentiment.

"I give the gang members free sake," she said, breaking the tension with a small joke.

He looked at her, incredulous.

"I promise that I will not steal your items back." As evidence of her pure intentions, Hisana gave him a conciliatory smile.

He gave her a onceover before deciding that she was harmless. For now. He was still skeptical of her motivations. She could be the AWOL spy, or she could be a commoner whose life would be more secure if the violence settled.

Byakuya began to shrug out of his kimono; the fabric pooling in the bend of his arms.

"I promise I will not gawk," Hisana chirped, shielding her eyes with her hand.

He looked at her skeptically. He did not care one way or the other, he thought to himself as he folded his clothes and laid them on the rock near her. Atop of the bundle of neatly placed garments was Senbonzakura, sheathed.

Hisana peaked through the spaces between her fingers and spied the lovely kimono and sword. Instinctively, she ran her fingers across the fine silk of his kimono. A pleasured smile lengthened her lips as she delighted in the sensation of the fabric. "You may want to dress in less ostentatious clothes," she called to him.

Having already reached the waterfall, Byakuya imperceptibly eyed her in his periphery. She had turned her head, affording him privacy. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He should purchase some common cloth. He did not rejoice in the thought, and he immediately pushed it aside.

Beaten down by temptation, Hisana cocked her head to the side to glimpse the bathing noble. She smiled mischievously at her intrusion before averting her gaze. The rumors were true. He was attractive, she thought to herself, unconsciously biting her bottom lip.

"You said you wouldn't gawk," he reminded her, deadpan.

Unknowingly, her gaze had drifted back to him. Blushing, she bowed her head, concealing a grin. "I was not gawking. I was _admiring_ the scenery. You just happen to be in the way!"

Once he had finished, he returned to the large flat rock at the edge of the bathing pool. Hisana was stepping into her sandals and putting the finishing touches on her obi. "Here," she said, handing him a wrapped parcel.

He received the package. It was light and soft. He had guessed correctly. Removing the brown packing paper, he found clothes. A scratchy navy blue kimono and white under robe.

Before he had a chance to interrogate her, Hisana interrupted, "Well, you were taking your time so I ran and purchased these clothes."

"Where are _my_ clothes?" He asked, searching the area for his kimono and hakama. The only items he located were his Zanpakutō, sandals, coin purse, and badge. He carefully inspected the coins in the satchel to discover that his money was all accounted for. She must have purchased the clothes with her surely meager salary. His expression softened briefly.

"I placed them somewhere safe," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Where?"

"They are in a hiding place at the tavern. No one will find them."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, clearly not pleased.

"It is a statement."

Agitated, Byakuya quickly dressed.

Watching him affix his Zanpakutō to his hakama, Hisana gave him a small smile. "You look utterly pedestrian," she stated, satisfied with her clothing choices. It was lie, she mused to herself. Byakuya would never look pedestrian. But, he looked less out of place.

He turned his cheek at her compliment and began down the path toward the tavern. Upon reaching the establishment, he looked across the street to find the Yamagumi headquarters active with tall burly men standing guard outside.

Byakuya was about to ask Hisana a question when he realized that she was no longer trailing behind him. She had disappeared. _'How typical.'_ Ignoring the annoyance percolating in his stomach, Byakuya slid the tavern door back to find a well-groomed middle-aged man smoking a cigarette. Bored, the man stretched back in the seat of his chair. He was surrounded by serious-faced men.

"Ah, you must be the sword for hire that murdered one of my men," the man stated, pulling from his cigarette.

Wearing his most impassive of expressions, Byakuya raised his head and looked the man over. He was dressed in a dark kimono with the Yamagumi symbol embroidered on the left breast of the garment. Not counting the armed bodyguards, he appeared to be unarmed.

'_Shinobu.'_

"If the man was felled by his own shuriken then I am the one who is responsible for his demise," Byakuya stated flatly.

Amused, the man exhaled a stream of smoke from his nose and smiled. "What is your name, son?"

Before Byakuya could respond, Hisana bustled through the tavern, carrying sake and food. "Now, you _big strong men_ look so hungry and thirsty," she interrupted in a high-pitched chirp.

She placed the foodstuff down on the table in front of the man. Gracefully, she lifted her arm and pulled the sleeve of her kimono back while she poured the sake into a small cup.

"Thank you, dear," the man stated, eyeing her with a predatory gaze.

"Now, Mr. Shinobu, you know our policy regarding _business_, correct?" Hisana's voice went up a few more octaves. She stared down at him with a friendly smile.

But he was not having any of it. His lips sloped into a frown, and he snapped his fingers. In a second, one of the guards grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from the table.

Byakuya watched her reactions carefully. He could tell that she had to fight the instinct to struggle against the guard, and his gaze immediately drifted to the guard's sheathed sword. He noted that she too was focused ever intensely on the sheathed weapon. For a brief moment, Byakuya wondered if she was legitimately afraid of the weapon or if she wanted to use it. She could have snatched it from him at any time, Byakuya noted to himself. She was a seasoned pickpocket. She had lifted items off of him surreptitiously, and he had been none the wiser. The oaf that was mishandling her would have been an easy target.

She never grabbed the sword.

And Byakuya wondered why.

"Ah," Shinobu mused, breaking the tension that blanketed the room. The guard paused, distracted by his boss, and Hisana quickly broke from his grasp.

"It seems this sword for hire is smitten with our little wench. His hand is poised to strike," Shinobu continued.

Sure enough, Byakuya had his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was instinctual.

Hisana grimaced at Byakuya's action, but the expression disappeared in a flash. Byakuya imagined that she was devising some plan, and his reaction had not been properly evaluated.

"It is dishonorable to assault the weak," he murmured.

Amused, Shinobu's brows popped up, and a smile split his lips. "I like that. A man must have a code as they say," he paused, exhaling another plume of smoke. "Unfortunately, we are the strongest gang, and I would never ask a man such as yourself to go against his own code." With that, Shinobu stood, put his cigarette out on the table, and sauntered to the door. "Enjoy the Sumigawa."

Shinobu's words lingered in the smoky dank air long after he left. Hisana pursed her lips together. Byakuya looked similarly pensive.

Sergio's voice broke the suffocating silence. "Are you alright, Hisana?" he called from behind the bar.

She gave an imperceptible shake of her head, pushing the cloud of thoughts from her mind. "I'm fine," she said, inspecting her arms. The tops of her arms were red from the skirmish. Bruising was likely, she noted to herself.

Byakuya watched her. His eyes hooded, and his expression was inscrutable. She imagined that he was devising a plan. She wondered what his next move was going to be, and she wondered if she was capable of helping.

"Where is Yoko?" Byakuya asked, scanning the bar.

Hisana tilted her head to the side, and she shot him a bored stare. _'Is he that obvious?'_ She wondered to herself.

Byakuya had read Hisana's dismay loud and clear.

"She is likely at her father's home."

Sergio stirred from behind the counter. "Likely?" he murmured sardonically.

Byakuya's brows lowered, and he scowled at Hisana.

While she suspected that Yoko was complicit with the Yamagumi gang's Rikki, she had no conclusive proof. For a brief moment, she wondered if that was the question that Byakuya was seeking the answer to. "She is at her father's home. Why?" She placed her hands on her hips as if to make her diminutive size seem more imposing.

Byakuya ignored her posturing, and he raised his head. "Good."

"Good?" Hisana echoed, confused. But before she had the word out good, he had disappeared through the door.

. . . .

Hours passed before Byakuya returned. Hisana greeted him unceremoniously with a sidelong glare before returning to wiping down a wooden table with a damp cloth. "Did you make a deal with the Sumigawa gang?"

He ignored her for a moment, taking a seat near the large window. "Yes."

"You have a plan?"

His gaze drifted to her. Impassively, he looked her in the eye.

"You are going to steal the relics based on Yoko's information?" The question came off as an admonishment rather than an inquiry.

Byakuya watched her. His steely gaze did not flinch at her caustic remark. "Their headquarters was the Mayor's office," he stated flatly.

"She gave you a key?"

He stared blankly at her.

Annoyed by his lack of response, Hisana dropped the dishcloth on the table and neared him. Leaning over his table, she looked him squarely in the eye. "You know what they say about glass keys?"

He did not move a muscle.

"They _break_," she whispered.

He raised his head, and his lips parted.


	7. Tumult

**Chapter 6: Tumult **

Byakuya clenched his jaw, stuffing the key into an inside pocket of his kimono. It was dark, and he was standing outside the Yamagumi headquarters. For some reason, Hisana's words stayed him.

'_You know what they say about glass keys? They break…'_

He was just about to turn around when he heard men discussing their plans to kidnap Rikki. Before he could take another step forward, he immediately slid into a small shaded corner of the building. He peered out through the shadows—dark and suffocating. There were two men, speaking in hushed tones. Carefully, Byakuya followed the men, ascertaining that they were members of the Sumigawa.

"He leaves from the south exit every night to go for a walk," the shorter of the two announced.

"After we kidnap him, they'll have to trade us for one of the relics! Shinobu's cold, but Rikki's his son."

"After that Shinoda wants us to use the relic on the body guard so we don't have to pay him! She is a cold bitch."

The shorter man laughed.

A half grin lengthened Byakuya's lips, and he continued after the men. Sure enough, Rikki, or a man that Byakuya presumed was Rikki, came out of a side door. The two men, already in position, began after him. They had two steps on Rikki, before Byakuya fired a binding spell.

The Sumigawa lackeys met the ground, unconscious.

. . . .

Early the next morning, Hisana sat, her legs dangling off the sides of rickety wooden boards. Still and quiet, she peered down from her position perched at the top of the town's water tower. Cupped in her hands was a piping hot cup of tea. Titling her head to the side, she smiled, knowingly. "I wonder how he managed this."

"You kidnapped two of our men!" A tall lanky man from the Sumigawa gang growled, waving his sword wildly over his head.

"Your men were plotting to kidnap our heir!" A burly man shouted back.

Byakuya stood to the side. Across the street from him, both gangs had collected. It was a gang war—a very uneventful gang war. _'Children playing with wooden swords have more interesting battles.'_

Listless, Byakuya watched; his arms folded tightly against his chest as if to protect himself from the sheer idiocy of what he was seeing. A sense of déjà vu plagued him. He had seen this tug-o-war two days prior.

The moment one gang member would advance, the entire squad of the opposing gang would retreat and then vice versa. He was growing incredibly bored. If only something, _anything_ happened.

Back and forth, one gang member would make idle threats, and another gang member would retort. There was a lot of commotion, Byakuya had to admit. There was much chest beating, sword waving, shield pounding, and grunting. He thought it might go on forever until they all died from idiocy or exhaustion.

That was until one of them suddenly dropped _dead_. An arrow pierced the dead man's neck.

A wave of horror seized the men. Instantaneously, the Sumigawa darted away from the dead body. Many of the men fumbled over one another in their attempt to flee; some dropped their weapons; many cried out in mortification.

Byakuya repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Shaking his head, he scanned the hoard of cretins for the one who had finally provided some much needed excitement. Once everyone, even the dullest among them, had discerned the death of one gang member, the crowd opened up to expose the single man clinging to a bow and quiver of arrows. He was a very thin, bald, liver-spotted man. Once he realized what had happened, his knobby knees knocked together, and he gave a nervous cry.

Byakuya sighed. "So disgraceful," he murmured to himself, aghast that these men were even allowed to _own_ weapons. Then, he noticed something rather peculiar. Like a laser, his gaze locked onto the arrows the man had in his quiver. He then shifted his gaze to the arrow pinning the dead Sumigawa to the ground. _The feathers were not the same_. Byakuya's brows furrowed as he examined the tilt of the spent arrow. The direction of implantation came from above, he noted to himself.

Byakuya's eyes flicked skyward. He eagerly scanned the rooftops. "Hisana," he stated under his breath. She sat on the water tower with a self-satisfied smirk; her hands wrapped around a tea cup. With narrowed eyes, he inspected her. She did not appear to have a weapon ready or nearby, but she was the only one he could discern that held an elevated position. The angle, too, would be a match from where she was seated.

When he returned his attention to the "battle," he found that a few men had begun crossing swords, and the archer had been slain.

"Stranger, come!" one of the Sumigawa called to Byakuya. Byakuya arched a brow at the command. "Please, we need aid!"

He stood still, watching. The clanking of swords had intensified, and, on occasion, a sword's blade met actual flesh.

"Very well," he murmured. He took a few steps forward. Wordlessly, he cast a low-level kido spell and stepped back into the place. A lightning bolt crashed down in the middle of three Yamagumi members, all of whom fell, dead. The display had sent the Yamagumi members running back to their headquarters.

Byakuya's gaze unknowingly trailed back up the water tower. Back to Hisana. She sat, head tilted to the side as if she was trying to calculate probabilities. Probabilities to answers that Byakuya did not know.

He turned on his heel and stepped across the tavern's threshold where he was greeted by Sergio. "What have you gone and done?" the old man growled.

Byakuya sat at a table.

"Those were paying customers!" he exclaimed between chuckles.

Byakuya observed the man. He was unsure of whether Sergio had gone mad or was genuinely excited that the town could be rid of the gangs. "On the house," Sergio said, planting a dish full of freshly cooked fish in front of Byakuya.

Byakuya was not nearly so joyous. The men's cowardice was endless, and it had effectively rendered his plans ineffective. His eyes narrowed at the turn of events. All he could hope for now was that the Sumigawa would actually do something rash in retribution for their kidnapped members.

"Some fine planning," Hisana murmured as she sauntered into the tavern. A kanzashi caught in her teeth. With frantic motions, her hands brushed her shoulder-length hair off her neck. "You kidnapped two Sumigawa and hand-delivered them to the Yamagumi," she said, making eye contact with Byakuya. "Hoping, I am sure, to start a gang war that would _end them all_?" She punctuated her observation by stabbing the hairpin into her loosely formed chignon.

He blinked. At the time it seemed like such a clever plan, but, after hearing her recount it, it sounded pretty _foolish._

"How did you learn this information?" He scrutinized her face for any tension, any twitch. She remained still, her gaze firmly leveled at him.

"I am the bar wench. I hear all, and I see all." Hisana poured a cup of sake and planted it down in front of Byakuya, and she assumed a seat in front of him. "What is your next play?" Her voice was terse but maternal in tenor.

Byakuya glowered at her. The words struck a discordant string in his heart. She sounded almost _patronizing_ to his ear. As if she were _his_ instructor—charged with helping him discover the solution that she had already discerned eons ago.

He turned his cheek to her. "The Sumigawa will seek their revenge. I am sure of it."

Hisana studied Byakuya's face with an intensity that he had never seen in her. Something about his plan troubled her. That much he could discern. Part of him wanted to elaborate, but a part of him—the stubborn, willful part of him—refused. Hisana was perceptive, he noted to himself. And she seemed motivated to destroy the gangs. He was certain that she was an ally in this regard.

But _why_?

"I am certain as well," she said, pushing her weight to the back of the chair. She lifted her head, and she stared out the window behind Byakuya. "Men from the Yamagumi," she said quietly.

Before Byakuya could turn to look behind him, the man had entered the tavern. Hisana was on her feet. Her hands were quickly ironing out any wrinkles in her apron, and she smiled pleasantly at them. "Greetings!" she said politely.

The men paid her no heed. The three passed her and pulled up chairs at Byakuya's table. "Well, if it is not the Stranger. What are they paying ya? We'll double it," one of them said pouring a cup of sake and downing it at once. He slammed the clay cup on the table, and, squeezing it with all of his might, he crushed it.

Byakuya watched the display unmoved.

"Oh, I'll fix that," Hisana chirped cheerfully. With quick crisp movements she simultaneously cleared the table and placed four cups and a tiered platter of onigiri on the table. She smiled pleasantly, "Is there anything-" Before she could get the words out, one of the men had grabbed her. His large hand enveloped her small wrist; she was certain that he could break it in a second.

Swallowing her pain, she braced herself, careful not to move an inch. Her face remained stoic—a perfect unbroken façade. Her gaze trailed to the floor, and she took a deep breath. _'Don't move, Byakuya,'_ her inner-self begged.

"You don't like that, do you? Look at him, Rinku," the man laughed.

While Byakuya did not flinch, the muscles in his jaw perceptibly tightened. His eyes, however, were dead and cold—like a shark. He had steeled himself against the possibility that she could suffer a broken wrist in the process.

"What if I do this?" he said, gripping her wrist tighter and pulling it back.

Hisana braced herself, turning her cheek and feeling for the breaking point. It was her dominate hand, which could mean trouble down the line, she reasoned to herself. Feeling his pressure intensifying, she bit her lip, willing herself to remain calm, but she could feel something spark inside her. A warm animalistic sensation seized her. She had faltered, and, before she could stop it, the spark inside her ignited. With the proficiency of a trained killer, she plucked a set of chopsticks from the table and thrust them to his eyes, stopping only a hairsbreadth from his left eye.

"Move and I will end you," she murmured breathlessly in his ear.

The man's eyes widened, and, before he could fully grasp her words, he had released his grip.

His companions began laughing. "Not so tough are you, Chip," Rinku remarked between chuckles.

Chip laughed off his embarrassment. "Bitch is a psycho," he said leaning back and giving her a wolfish onceover. Returning the chopsticks to the table, she managed a small smile.

"Play nicely, boys," she called in a high canorous voice.

Byakuya watched Hisana, uncomprehending. His mind flashed to the day prior: She had looked so intently at the guard's sword. Unlike the brutes in the gangs, her instincts were to kill. More troubling, she could turn it off so easily.

"So you are soft on the bar wench," Chip began, leaning forward. His hulking body took up most of the table as he did so.

The muscles in Byakuya's face tensed in an expression of subdued disgust at the observation. He did not care about Hisana. In fact, he relished the thought of leaving Aka-Name and its residents behind forever.

"Man's got a _code_," Rinku said, punctuating the word "code" hard. "I like him." Rinku turned his attention to Byakuya, "You should join us."

"Hey, wench, more onigiri! This shit is delicious!" the unnamed gang member commanded.

Hisana forced a smile and obeyed, replenishing the tiered platter. For a brief moment, she shared a look with Byakuya.

"So, about you joining us. How much are they paying ya?" Chip asked, sputtering bits of rice as he spoke.

"Enough," Byakuya said. "Your boss—"

"Our boss changed his mind."

"We'll double whatever they are paying ya. Swear to it."

"You have one of the relics," Byakuya noted matter-of-factly.

All three men looked stunned that he knew. It was as if they were unaware that the information had been telegraphed to every citizen in Aka-Name. Maybe they were that clueless? Byakuya considered the possibility for a moment.

"Yeah, we have _both_ of those relics and a few Shinigami-grade Zanpakutō," Rinku stated bluntly.

Hisana's face looked stricken by the announcement. Her complexion blanched, and her jaws went slack. "Rinku!" both of his companions yelped.

Byakuya could barely resist shaking his head in disapprobation. How could these men be so incompetent? What was killing the Second Division's soldiers? He refused to believe that it was _them_.

"I want a relic in return for my services," Byakuya stated firmly.

"Okay," Chip laughed. "This stranger drives a hard bargain. But, you got it."

After a few rounds of drinks and food, the men departed. Satisfied.

Waiting for the men to disappear into their designated building, Hisana crossed the room to Byakuya's table. "You know they are not going to give you a relic," Hisana said, clearing the table.

"I know," Byakuya said flatly, "they plan to kill me."

She looked up at him. Her face emoted a look of horror—as if she believed they could do it. "Be careful," she said solemnly, "you have no idea the power they possess."

His eyes narrowed at her statement. Did she truly think that the likes of those _reprobates _could ever harm him? He opened his mouth, ready to chastise her for her impertinence before realizing that Sergio was still in the room. Quickly, he caught himself and digressed, "Do you know what this relic is?"

Hisana lifted her head, inhaled a deep breath, and her gaze trailed to the ceiling. "I have an idea."

"What does that mean?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I saw it used against the last Shinigami who came into town. It gives the user the ability to wield any Zanpakutō he or she chooses. It can trigger the releases too. I do not know what power the newest relic possesses, however."

Byakuya's brows knitted together. Suddenly, his mission made more sense. These miscreants were no match for a trained Shinigami as they were, but give them unlimited power and no clue how to wield it, and there was an interesting battle. "The Yamagumi have both relics?"

Hisana nodded her head. "So it seems. And they have fresh Zanpakutō from the failed missions."

. . . .

Hours passed, seemingly carrying the weight of days. Byakuya had gone to the Yamagumi headquarters, and he had not returned for some time. Hisana paced the floor of the tavern. The bar was empty. It was just her and Sergio, which was never a good sign. It was the day that the Sumigawa usually took their drink and food from the establishment. Yet, nothing.

Hisana sat perched on a barstool in front of Sergio. "I wonder what is going on?" she asked, sipping from her cup of freshly poured sake. She usually did not like to drink, but the day was wearing her down, pulling at the fabric of her sanity.

"It is very quiet," Sergio said, contorting his head to the side to see if he could see anyone approaching outside the window. His lips parted, and he inhaled a deep breath. "I think we may have some answers."

Hisana quickly turned to see a pack of Sumigawa stampede into the tavern. They scattered every which way, occupying every seat in the bar. She immediately jumped to her feet and began taking orders, paying close attention to any errant remarks or comments.

"I can't believe it! We did it?"

"I know!"

"We did it!"

"The Yamagumi will be paralyzed now!"

The quiet chatter intensified with each passing moment as if the realization was finally setting in.

"What are you men so pleased about?" Hisana asked cheerfully.

"We captured Rikki and Yoko! And we have them stored on the perimeter."

Hisana's eyes widened, and her breath caught in the back of her throat. "Oh."

"Yep. Otomo can finally have Yoko for himself."

Hisana gaped at the statement. "Byakuya…"

. . . .

Shinobu smiled as he looked down on the relics. Clearly, he took much pride in obtaining them. "You see, these two armlets grant the user the power to trigger any Zanpakutō's release. And this," he paused, picking up a Zanpakutō, "was found nearby." The last observation hit a dull chord. He handed Byakuya the sword, "This is a token of our appreciation. You will receive an armlet after the Sumigawa have been vanquished."

Byakuya felt the weight of the sword in his hand. The sword was well polished, and the hilt was a reddish-brown color with a flame-like design stitched into it. It was light, well-constructed, but ordinary. _'It must have belonged to one of the Second's men.'_

Holding the hilt firmly in his grasp, Byakuya glimpsed his reflection in its metal. _'It would be very easy to kill him now and take the relics. The mission would be complete.'_ He mused to himself. But that wasn't true. His mission would not be accomplished—not without ascertaining the rogue spy. Killing all the townspeople would not be very conducive to finding the spy, now would it? His features drew into a pained expression. Carefully, he sheathed the sword and affixed it to his hakama.

The silence that had settled over the two was pierced by a sharp "clack" of a shoji door being thrown back against its frame. In the doorway, a fat heaving man stood. "Rikki and Yoko have been taken!" he announced. Winded, the fat man bent to brace his hands on his knees.

"What?" Shinobu gasped.

"We don't," the fat man began between pants, "don't know where Rikki is, but we have discovered Yoko's location," he ended with a sharp wheezing sound.

The color drained from Shinobu's face. In the beat of a minute, the leader appeared to have aged ten years. "Go!" he commanded, angry. "Find my son and secure Yoko," he ordered before turning his attention to Byakuya.

"My poor Rikki," Shinobu said, shaking his head, "such a foolish boy. They won't kill him, I am sure. But they may kill Yoko."

Nonplussed, Byakuya tucked his chin down and stared down at Shinobu. "Why?"

"Yoko means nothing to them or me, personally. But Rikki has been insistent that we purchase her for his wife. We were so close…"

Byakuya lifted his gaze to the door, finalizing his course of action. "I will go with the men to locate Yoko," he stated firmly.

"Good," Shinobu agreed. "Take one of her abductors hostage. We will make him talk."

Hearing the words, Byakuya was off in a blaze. He could sense her weak signature kilometers away. She was being kept in a small shanty on the outskirts of the town. When he arrived he paused, detecting that he had been beaten to the shack by Shinobu's men.

He found the situation unusual. Instinctually, he did not want to continue further. There was something ominous, oppressive hanging in the air. For a moment, he waited. Soundlessly, he held his breath and listened. Above the susurrus of the wind, he could hear faints protests emanating from inside the shack. Focusing his attention to the shadows moving to and fro in the dilapidated structure, he counted six men.

Yoko's screams grew more intense with each passing second.

Unsheathing his sword, Byakuya grabbed a torch on his way inside and dropped it indiscriminately. The old, dry wooden boards proved to be quick fodder for the flames. Byakuya had managed to dispatch two men before his presence was made known. There were four more of them, he reminded himself.

Not one of them even crossed his sword. It was pitifully easy. He weaved in and out of rooms until he discovered Yoko. She was crouched beside a wall, sobbing. In her hand was an iron poker, and she was about to jab it in Byakuya's direction before realization dawned on her. "Oh my," she cried. Excitedly, she jumped to her feet and grabbed hold of him.

Byakuya quickly led her out of the burning shanty. Once they were a few meters from the flames, he turned to her. He was about to scold her and to command her to flee, but, before he could form the words in his head, the breath in his lungs was violently purged. Being stabilized only by Yoko, he gasped for air. The sensation of cold steel plunging and twisting in warm flesh caught him off guard. His entire nervous system felt like it was on fire as he gasped for air. He could taste the metallic flavor of his own blood in his mouth.

"This is for orchestrating the capture of Rikki," she growled into his ear, feeling him slowly go limp. "A poisoned blade."

. . . .

The night had been long and tedious. Hours passed before the last of the Sumigawa drunkenly bumbled out of the tavern. Closing the door behind the man, Hisana braced her back against the doorframe and breathed a sigh. Nervously, she wiped her hands against her apron. She knew what she had to do next. She, however, was still contemplating how to do it.

Silently deciding on a course of action, she quickly untied her apron, tossed it on a nearby table, and exited the tavern. Before she could think better of her decision, she gave a few harsh knocks on the Yamagumi's door. On her fourth rap, the door flew back, the light from within revealing her face.

"Aw, it's the bar wench!" the tall bulky man yelled back to unseen others. "Wadda want?"

"Where is the Stranger?"

"Who is asking?"

"Me."

The man laughed at her. "Look at you so high and mighty," he growled, lowering his head towards hers. Placing a large hand against her small shoulder, he shoved her against an adjacent wall. "I know a way to wipe that look straight off your smug face."

Hisana winced, feeling his breath heat her cheek. He smelled foul—a mixture of rotten teeth and poorly distilled sake. "Let me go," she said, struggling.

"Certainly, but if you come knocking on the door again, I will lock you up with the whores in the back." He grabbed her by the collar of her kimono and shoved her out the door. Hisana stood defiantly, helplessly watching as he slammed the door in her face.

She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh. "Futile," she murmured to herself, sinking into the darkness. Carefully, she moved from shaded patch to shaded patch, and she waited. Minutes melted into hours, and quietly she waited tucked into a small gap between buildings.

At some point during the waiting, Hisana had drifted to a drowsy slumber. She was roused, however, by the sound of a female barking orders from the opposite side of the wall. Clearing her sense, she inhaled a deep breath. The air had become humid and sticky. Turning her head to peak out from the crevice, she could see a curtain of rain pounding the loose dirt into a grey mud.

'_The voice,'_ she thought to herself. She held her breath the moment she heard a clanking noise.

"He is in there," the woman assured.

"How long do you think the Stranger will be out of it?" It was a strange man's voice.

"I don't know. Send Chip in to monitor him. If he gets up, tell Chip to bring him back down. There is no way he can break the chains that I have devised. Slap him around a bit until he tells us where Rikki is."

"You sure Chip is enough? The stranger is awfully strong."

"Give him one of the relics, and he will be enough," she growled. "Now, go!"

Hisana cupped a hand to her mouth.

. . . .

Heavy. Leaden. Numb. He could barely peel his eyelids open. Even if he had, he was sure that he would have a hard time discerning what it was he saw. His mind moved at a glacial pace.

Everything hurt.

Byakuya was sure he had blacked out a few times before he managed to sustain consciousness for any length of time. Through half-lidded eyes, he scanned his surroundings. _'Chained to a chair. In a barn. Near a box filled with Zanpakutō.'_

Reflexively, he struggled against his bounds. His body was still too leaden to break the manacles. Sinking into his seat, he sensed a lightness on his hip—as if an appendage had been severed. He looked down to find Senbonzakura missing.

An electric shock pierced his heart and continued to set his entire nervous system ablaze. Fighting back his anger, his gaze drifted to the pile of swords. Senbonzakura was set across the top. Byakuya, however, continued to scrutinize the hilts and guards of the other blades. Some of them looked familiar. Not all of the zanpakutō belonged to Second Division Shinigami. He was certain that a few belonged to Shinigami in other divisions.

Relatively accomplished Shinigami.

Then, it finally dawned on him.

This was not a mission. This was where prospective Vice Captain candidates went to die. There was something or someone beyond the gangs that was killing the Shinigami. He was just unsure of whether the field mission was _specifically designed_ to claim so many lives.

Unlikely, he thought to himself. Something must have happened. Someone in charge of the field test must have turned, twisted.

Quickly, he began taking stock of everyone he had seen in the town. There were the various gang members, the gang leaders and their scions, Yoko, and Hisana. Yoko had proven to be a traitor. Hisana was . . . he was unsure of Hisana and Rikki.

He first began with Yoko.

Swiftly, he began to create a plausible story for Yoko. She was assigned to run the simulation. Using the resources they had—gangs, missing relics—she was supposed to oversee the implementation. She falls in love with Rikki and goes homicidal?

He shook his head.

No. That did not make any sense. Maybe it was not Yoko. Maybe it was Rikki. Byakuya knew that familial relationships in the Rukon Districts largely lacked blood-ties. They were created by feelings of camaraderie, not bloodlines. Rikki lusted for power. Once he obtained the relics (or sent his army of degenerates to find the relics) he wished to take over the clan. When Shinigami would come to fulfill their missions, he would kill them, adding to his collection of zanpakutō.

Byakuya squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. His thoughts then shifted to Hisana.

Her story? She was the hardest to pin down, which made her suspicious in itself. Perhaps she wants the gangs destroyed to claim the relics for herself?

He shook his head.

That did not seem right.

Maybe she was meant to play the role of the spy? Perhaps she was supposed to play along. But, she realized that if the Shinigami succeeded then her cover would be blown. With her cover blown, she would be of no use to her division. The Second would likely consider her a loose end, and they would neutralize her. Hisana, motivated by survival, would kill them before they could complete their mission.

Byakuya grimaced at the observation.

That could be an incentive for any of the persons of interest. The spy kills the candidate merely to keep from blowing his or her identity and having to face the wrath of the Second Division Captain along with the likely discharge of their duties. What good is a spy if their cover is blown?

Frustrated by the many possibilities, Byakuya reopened his eyes.

"I see our pretty boy is awake!" Cracking his knuckles, Chip stood. "So where is Rikki?"

Byakuya glowered at the oafish man.

"If you don't open your mouth, I am going to smash your pretty little head in."

Byakuya did not flinch.

A loud electric crackle seared the air. An odor of burnt earth and metal settled upon the room, stinging the throats of both men. "Ah, not so clever now," Chip spat, fingering a metal medallion hanging from his hakama. The metal smoked. "Your spells will do you no good now."

'_The other relic…'_


	8. Embers

**Chapter 7: Embers**

She wondered if this had been a mistake. A giant fucking mistake.

_Mistake._ Her mind scrutinized the word, searching for a solution hidden within its syllables. But she knew that no such magic existed—clarity never came from a word alone.

No. It was not a mistake.

She had to convince herself that this was most definitely _not_ a mistake.

She had to silence the choirs in her head that sang words of doubt.

'_If this is to work I must move forward.'_

In order to move forward, however, she would have to expose herself. Showing her cards in the middle of the game was a deadly prospect. There was a significant chance that she had not been dealt the winning hand.

'_That is it.'_ The words rang in her head with solemn finality. Without a second thought, she slid open the door to her room, crossed the floor to her closet, threw back the door, knelt to the floor, and removed a floorboard. Under a swath of scarlet it laid—her inheritance.

Her breath caught in her chest. Her hands felt like they had been dipped into a bucket of ice water, but her fingers proved nimble as she released her old friend. The wrapping of the hilt felt familiar to her hand; the weight of the blade was perfectly calibrated for her and her alone.

"Amaterasu," she whispered, examining the reflective steel. The blade glinted in the pale moonlight, reflecting light against the wall.

Hisana closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. With lungs filled, she tried to clear her thoughts. Her moment of repose, however, was interrupted. She could feel her sword pulsating in her hand; the pulsations slowly began to synchronize with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She could almost hear Amaterasu's demands to feel the heat of battle again.

Exhaling the trapped breath through her nose, Hisana opened her eyes. The world remained unchanged. The pitter-patter of rain still pelted the roof. The night still loomed over her like a heavy blanket. Daylight still felt like a long time coming.

Hisana dropped her sword to her side, letting the blade drag against the ground as she lightly crossed from her room into the night. The familiar scent of scorched earth filled her senses. As her sword dragged behind her, a trail of smoke followed in her wake.

Careful, Hisana regulated her breathing, and she searched for an inner tranquility. She would need it to wield her zanpakutō. She would need it to survive.

Crossing the street to the Yamagumi gang's stronghold, she inhaled deeply, feeling the power of her sword permeate her until her concerns and fears were replaced with a cool, almost sinister, confidence. Her heartbeat slowed until her pulse finally matched the rhythm of Amaterasu's pulsing in her hand. She felt the exact moment when her weapon became an extension of her very essence.

"Hey!"

Hisana turned her gaze to the half-drunk sentry standing guard outside a hut. She lifted her arm, and, passively, she watched her blade tear through the man's throat. A mist of blood clouded her vision, but she could glimpse the look on the man's face as he gasped for what little life he could sustain.

She caught him before he collapsed in a heap on the ground. She could not afford an errant noise to alert the gangs to her presence. Carefully, she eased his body to the ground. Without a second thought, her hands instinctively unsheathed his sword, and she returned to her feet.

For a moment, she inhaled. The scent of blood and smoke filled her lungs. The aroma was so pungent that she could almost _taste_ it, and she was certain that Amaterasu was feeding off the sensations as well. Finding her repose, she paused, searching for Byakuya. It did not take long to detect his signature. His spiritual pressure was inflamed—a sign she took to mean that he was in distress.

While moving toward the barn that she was certain kept Byakuya, she crossed the fallen sentry's sword with her own. Gripping the hilt of her sword tightly upon the blades making contact, she watched Amaterasu emit a ball of fire. The fire quickly spread down the sentry's sword until it consumed Hisana's arm. Hisana squeezed her eyelids together for a moment, feeling the warmth of Amaterasu's flame against her skin. Her flesh did not burn; however, the same could not be said for the sentry's sword.

Hisana tossed the flaming sword into a nearby haystack. _'A diversion,'_ she noted as the hay took light despite being drenched in rainwater. The fire quickly spread from the haystack to the nearby building.

'_Prostitutes.'_

Indeed, the building that was ablaze housed the prostitutes' quarters, and, within moments, she could hear their screams.

They were trapped. They would die. Slowly. Painfully. These observations came to her in an unfeeling monotone.

Reflexively, Hisana ducked into a small dark passageway. A few steps into the passage, she could hear Yamagumi guards scurry past her. Their voices were raised, but their words were muffled by the walls between them and Hisana. She ignored the ruckus, following a narrow corridor which ended near the barn. She stopped short, not risking her position tucked deep in the shadows.

Two guards stood watch outside, she noted to herself. She loosened the grip on her blade, restraining her inner maelstrom. Her blade reacted in kind, growing dormant in her hand.

Swiftly, she sheathed her sword, and she was off. With deathly accuracy, she wound her way to her opponent's back. Silence filled his ears and blackness clouded his mind, the moment she downed him.

The noise his body made upon crashing to the ground was _intentional_.

Alerted, the second guard rushed to investigate the noise. Hisana made quick use of him. After ensuring that both men were dead, she moved to the door.

One hand gripped the hilt of her sword; her other hand was placed lightly against the door of the barn. She paused—her mind searching the room that lay behind the door. Her eyes narrowed. She threw open the door.

One movement.

She had unsheathed her sword, and, in a long stroke, she slashed her next opponent. Her sword tore across his chest. The heated metal of the blade seared his flesh before setting the man aflame. He fell, dead.

Second movement.

She quickly turned to Byakuya, and, with a short stroke of her arm, sliced through his chains before returning the sword to its sheath.

Hisana was quick to catch the battered noble before he fell forward from his seat. Bracing her body against him, she searched his face. He had been badly pummeled. His once fine features were swollen, blackened, and blood-stained. "Milord," she murmured, hoping to rouse him.

Looking up through the slits that his eyelids afforded him, he murmured, "You were on fire."

Hisana's brow furrowed, and she held his gaze. In her head she willed him to stay with her—to stay conscious, to keep looking at her. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, pleadingly. She cupped a hand against the side of his face.

Her skin felt surprisingly cool against his enflamed flesh. Wordlessly, she tried to clean his face with the sleeve of her kimono. "Stay with me," she urged. Trembling, she tried to apply her spiritual pressure to heal him. She had never been skillful in the art of healing.

His gaze drifted to Chip. Unknowingly, Hisana followed his focus to see the giant man dead near her fresh kill. She gaped for a moment, and her brows knitted together, shocked. _'Lord Kuchiki must be very powerful.' _She then looked at Byakuya. He was still staring at Chip, and she returned her gaze to the large heap of a man.

"The medallion?" she whispered.

Byakuya wordlessly stared ahead at the relic.

Hisana reached toward the man, and, one-handedly, she unfastened the medallion from Chip's obi. Quickly, she stuffed the relic into her kimono.

"Swords," Byakuya managed in a throaty voice.

Hisana's eyes widened. "Of course," she said, gently bracing him against a wall. She scoured the area before locating the pile of discarded zanpakutō. Senbonzakura was on the top of the pile. Hisana took the zanpakutō, but, as she removed it, she was met with a surprise.

Hisana shuddered upon glimpsing the sword. _'It cannot be!'_ Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched in her chest. Icy tendrils trailed down her spine, and she stood paralyzed. Her hand hovered hesitantly over the hilt of the zanpakutō. _'Sode no Shirayuki?'_ It was her sister's sword—the twin to her own. _'How did you get here?'_ Without another thought, she grasped the sword in her hand and affixed it next to her own zanpakutō.

"Lord Kuchiki," she began mid-turn.

He was fighting to remain conscious. His eyes stung; his face throbbed; and, his whole body ached in painful unison.

"Do you think you can walk?" Before he could respond, she tucked herself under one of his arms, and she began to stand, shifting all of his weight against her. "You will complete this mission. I promise you."

. . . .

Byakuya drifted in and out of consciousness. His slumber was tormented. His flesh hot and sweaty. Feverishly, Hisana probed him. Her hands fluttered against his head, taking his temperature. She palpitated his chest and abdomen. Finding the stab wound, she quickly tore his kimono open. Her mouth twisted as she examined the small but blackened puncture. "Ruber mors," she said, recognizing the acerbic smell of the poison. "Sergio," she called.

"I don't want any part of this, Hisana," the barkeep called. But before she had the chance to protest, Sergio stood over her with a lantern, a pot of hot water, and a clean rag.

"Could you help me undress him?"

Sergio rolled his eyes. "I do not want my name associated with this act," he growled, obliging. He helped Hisana undress the unconscious Byakuya.

She examined Byakuya for additional wounds. "Do we have any antiseptic?"

"Again, Hisana, no part," he said fishing into the pocket of his kimono. He handed her a small tin of antiseptic.

"You know, your act is getting a little disingenuous," Hisana teased.

Sergio scowled. "He owes me money for all of this."

She cocked a brow at the statement, telegraphing her skepticism loud and clear.

"You know they are going to know he escaped, and, then, they are going to come here looking for him."

Hisana paid Sergio no attention.

"They are going to raze this place," he continued.

"They may think he perished in the barn fire," she said after a great length of time.

Sergio's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"Shush," she said, trying to concentrate on her field dressings.

After hours of applying bandages, medicine, and spiritual power, Hisana was mentally and physically spent. She was sure that she had managed to extract the poison from him, but she could not completely restore him. Her healing abilities were severely lacking, and exhaustion had descended upon her, infiltrating every fiber and sinew of her being.

With his head propped in her lap, Hisana leaned her back against the wall and stared desolately ahead. Unthinking, her fingers gently played in Byakuya's hair. Her mind began to shut down, but her eyes refused to close.

She was in shock.

. . . .

Early the next morning, Byakuya slowly began to emerge from his slumber. His body still ached. His head still throbbed. His pulse still kept pace with the sound of blood pounding in his ears. His eyelids were still swollen. Yet, despite all of this, he felt much improved from the night before.

He opened his eyes. The sun's effulgence flooded his vision—blinding him. The intense burn of sunlight triggered a memory from the night before: Hisana. She had come to save him adorned in fire.

He could not get the vision out of his head.

Her whole body had been clothed in bright burning red flames. She had moved with such purpose. With great precision, she had felled the bodyguard. She had looked so intense. She had looked so _beautiful_ as she held him.

Byakuya lingered on the memory before forcing his eyes open.

He was in Hisana's room, he noted to himself. Blinking back the stinging sensation plaguing his vision, Byakuya turned his head to find that he was resting in Hisana's lap. A rush of adrenaline bathed his tired body, and he sat up. He was about to chastise her before he realized that she was in a strange open-eyed slumber.

'_Shock,'_ he noted to himself. Without a second thought, he gently eased her eyes closed.

She melted into the warmth of his palm against her left check.

Byakuya stayed himself; his eyes probing her face. She looked pale. Dark circles framed her eyes, and her lips were cracked from dehydration. Yet, despite her flaws, he remained, watching her inhale a deep breath. He watched as her chest rose. He watched her exhale. He watched her open her eyes, tiredly.

He was the first thing she saw through her thick dark lashes.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Lord Kuchiki," she murmured. Reflexively, she cupped her hand against his cheek.

Their eyes locked.

Her touch was feather light and soothing. He leaned forward—the space between them closing. Hisana closed her eyes. She was ready to submit. In fact, she desired to feel the heat of his mouth against hers. Her heart fluttered at the realization of this _need_—of this want. Her breath caught in her chest, and she trembled under the weight of her yearning.

As he leaned in, he could feel her cool fingers quiver against the heat of his skin. He tensed, trying to discern whether her hesitancy was a command for him to stop. He searched her countenance. Her eyes were closed, and the lines of her face were serene. She looked so demure, so delicate.

Hisana's lips parted the moment she felt his breath play against her skin, warming her deeply. She leaned forward to meet him.

_Crash!_

The spell had been broken. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned to face the sudden clamor.

Byakuya sprang to his feet. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Carefully, he peered out of the door. The tavern was eerily quiet. He scanned area. Sergio was not at his usual station at the bar, and the door had been pulled open.

Hisana neared him from behind. Her footsteps were as light as his as they crossed the floor to the door. Her blade was naked in her hand, and the sheathed Sode no Shirayuki remained tucked into her obi. Just as she was about to near the tavern's exit, her instincts stayed her.

Frozen, her eyes widened the moment a body was tossed through the window of the tavern. Shards of glass sprayed into the air and skidded across the worn floorboards. A table toppled, and chairs fell on their sides upon impact with the body.

A large man lay prone on the floor before Hisana's feet. Blood quickly began to drain from his body. Hisana gasped in horror. The man's face was so badly bloodied that she could not ascertain who he was. Instinctively, she bent and placed her index and middle fingers firmly against his neck. As she had surmised—he was dead.

She looked back to the door. Byakuya had disappeared. _'Be careful, Lord Kuchiki.'_

. . . .

Byakuya crossed into the middle of the town. A chilly wind blew through him as he stood defiantly. The gangs had assembled. The Yamagumi stood on the right, and the Sumigawa stood on the left. In the middle of the road, stood a Sumigawa member who held Rikki down into a kneeling position. Yoko also stood in the middle. She held a sword to Sergio's neck. "Make a move, Stranger, and the old man gets it!"

Byakuya's gaze shifted from Sergio to Rikki. Rikki appeared to be rather pleased with himself. He smiled wildly at Byakuya. Sergio, on the other hand, appeared mortified. The old man struggled, pounding his fists against Yoko's hands. "Let me go!" he cried, seemingly unafraid of the sword's proximity to his neck.

Byakuya tilted his head. He was about to unsheathe Senbonzakura, but, before he had the chance, Rikki began to laugh. "You think you have things so under control?" he asked, licking his lips. "Don't you, little Kuchiki lord? Well, you _don't_." Rikki's voice became deathly calm as he enunciated the last word.

Before Byakuya had the chance to respond, Rikki had broken away from the Sumigawa member that restrained him. The man was sent singing into the window of the tavern. Byakuya watched Rikki carefully, ascertaining that the man had one of the armlets fastened to his right hand.

Shedding his haori, Rikki gripped his sword and assumed a battle posture.

Byakuya followed suit.

A discordant giggle escaped Yoko as she readied her hand to sever Sergio's head from his neck. Before she could strike, Hisana had flung Yoko backwards a few feet. "You're mine," Hisana hissed, pinning Yoko down by the throat.

Yoko's lips split into a wry smile. "Worried about Little Byakuya?"

"Not at all."

"Then why are you interfering with the mission?"

"I am not. You are _nothing_." Hisana positioned her sword at an angle over Yoko's head, preparing to strike.

"Not so fast!" Yoko growled, quickly plucking Sode no Shirayuki from Hisana's belt and deflecting Hisana's blade with the second armlet. Hisana's eyes widened at the discovery.

"There are two?" she murmured to herself, retreating several feet.

"You look shocked—such an unflattering expression for a member of the Onmitsukidō," Yoko chastised.

"I could say that treachery is an unbecoming look for a member of the stealth force, but it seems to suit you just fine," Hisana retorted.

Yoko turned, giving Hisana a sidelong stare. A smile split her vermillion lips. "Aw, sweet, sweet Hisana—a girl from the 78th District who is known for her gentle grace and kind heart. You could join us. We could set this world on fire, and who better to start with than a member of nobility?"

The lines in Hisana's face hardened, and she adjusted her grip on her sword.

"Where is your kind heart, now, Hisana? Where is your absolution?" Yoko's words sank into the humid air, and she laughed.

"I don't think you came here looking for absolution, and if you are then you better find yourself another solution."

"As you wish."

Hisana kept her center of gravity low, and she braced for Sode no Shirayuki's attack. Watching the zanpakutō transform, she held her breath. Buried deep in the spaces of her mind as if it had been catalogued away for another time, another place, the memory of her sister's sword flew forward. She had seen Sode no Shirayuki's shikai as an adolescent. She was sure. Yet, the memory came to her in pieces—it was broken.

'_What was it?'_

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. _'Of course…'_

. . . .

Across the battlefield, Byakuya and Rikki stood in the middle of the street. Likely paralyzed by horror, none of the other gang members had dared to move a muscle. Even the ones who had been knocked down during Hisana and Yoko's skirmish moments prior remained glued to the ground.

Byakuya was firmly planted in position, but his mind drifted to Hisana. Sensing her reiatsu intensify, he estimated that she and Yoko were approximately 40 klicks away. Fighting.

So it came down to Yoko and Rikki. Rikki was the rogue spy, he presumed, and Yoko was the Second Division member who had been "presumed dead." That only left Hisana. He was certain that she belonged to the Second; however, he was uncertain about her role in his mission.

Predatorily, Rikki began circling Byakuya. "The little Kuchiki brat," he announced, smiling at the clarion sound of his voice in the thick air. Upon comprehending Rikki's revelation, the entire crowd of men—Yamagumi and Sumigawa alike—drew a collective breath before they erupted into a fit of whispers.

Byakuya remained unperturbed.

"You believe it is your right to take up the helm of your family's division?"

The whispers quickly grew into heated words.

Byakuya did not respond.

"Everything has been handed to you so summarily," Rikki chided. "Are you too arrogant to defend this system that your family has had a hand in devising? A system that has given you everything and left the rest to rot in a harsh wasteland?"

The crowd's heated words quickly devolved into a commotion. Men took up their arms and began clanging their weapons against their shields and armor. The upheaval seemed to feed Rikki's spiritual power, and he grinned, pausing briefly to examine his opponent.

Byakuya's eyes deadened, and he lowered his head.

Rikki scoffed. "Your low-level kido will do me no harm."

"It wasn't meant for you," Byakuya retorted.

Rikki turned to find that the gang members had been bound and sealed. In his moment of shock, however, Rikki quickly lost ground. Reflexively, he parried a strike from Byakuya. The two men continued to spar, and, as they did so, they slowly drifted from the town to the wilderness flanking Aka-Name.

Realizing that Byakuya had led him to a clearing away from civilization, Rikki's lips curved into a wolfish smile. "Clever boy," Rikki noted, his eyes gleaming, "but I doubt your intentions were so noble," he muttered before releasing his zanpakutō's shikai.

Byakuya staved off the first attack with a well-timed flash-step. Peering down from a limb of a nearby tree, Byakuya observed the aftereffects of the release. The zanpakutō utilized metal-based attacks. The metal was molten, and it crept forward like lava, eating into the wet ground.

Byakuya's brows knitted together as he considered the possibilities.

"So quick to retreat?" Rikki taunted, spying Byakuya's position in the tree.

Byakuya dropped down, "Scatter."

. . . .

The sudden sensation of Byakuya's reiatsu spiking, distracted Hisana. Thoughtlessly, she executed a poorly timed flash-step and found herself on the receiving end of one of Sode no Shirayuki's ice attacks. She flinched upon feeling her right forearm and hand go numb. A shrill coldness began to trail up from her affected arm toward her torso before setting her entire nervous system on fire.

Hisana stopped in her tracks and knelt down. The pain became so intense that she found it difficult to regulate her breathing. A strangled cry escaped her hoarse throat.

"Too easy," Yoko muttered, closing in on Hisana from behind. Her steps were small and minatory. She seemed certain that she had won this battle. "I really thought you had enough power to unseal your sword by now," Yoko noted half-heartedly as she readied her weapon for the killing strike.

Hisana's grip on her sword intensified. Her heart pounded fervently in her chest, and she held her breath, waiting for Yoko to draw closer. Hisana squeezed her eyes shut. _'Just a little closer,'_ she willed of Yoko.

Yoko's small foot rebounded from its last stride, and she stopped a few paces from Hisana. "You are a disappointing opponent. I thought you would have been better given the circumstances."

Hisana's eyes narrowed. "Divine Intervention," she commanded; her tone was guttural.

Before Yoko could fully appraise the situation, Hisana made the first move. Her whole body was on fire. Her right arm—once numbed by Sode no Shirayuki—was instantly restored.

Shocked, Yoko successfully parried Hisana's attack. Moments later she launched another ice attack; the attack, however, was quickly diverted by Amaterasu's fire.

The two women stood breathless, watching each other.

"Well, this is quite a predicament." Yoko murmured.

Hisana repressed the urge to laugh.

. . . .

Byakuya's eyes widened at the effects of his shikai. Rikki's zanpakutō had seemingly eaten Senbonzakura's deadly petals. The small metal blades proved to be fuel for the nameless zanpakutō and little else. Realizing his mistake, Byakuya quickly sealed his zanpakutō.

It had been poor planning on his part, Byakuya rebuked himself. It would not happen again. Quickly formulating another plan, Byakuya was off. Dodging the deadly molten metal spewing forth from Rikki's weapon, Byakuya navigated the forest, keeping time with the attacks. Sure he had accurately discerned Rikki's pattern of attack, Byakuya stopped dead.

"Aw, is the little lord _tired_," Rikki mocked.

"Incredibly," Byakuya growled.

"I will make sure this goes quickly, then," Rikki sneered. Rikki then extended his sword forward.

Prepared, Byakuya quickly fired a strong water-based spell just as Rikki released his attack. The water met the molten metal with explosive results.

Having anticipated the subsequent steam explosion, Byakuya had released Senbonzakura. A wall of petals shielded him from the debris. It took only a few moments for Rikki's spiritual pressure to attenuate. Byakuya lowered Senbonzakura's protective barrier to find Rikki kneeled on the ground. He struggled to prop himself up by the blade of his weapon.

A strangled moan caught in Rikki's throat, and he looked up at Byakuya. Blood flowed from the crown of his head down is neck in rivulets. His body buckled from the stress of his own weight. His reiatsu slaked, and he fell forward in a heap.

"Kill me!" Rikki demanded.

Byakuya approached him slowly. "You are the rogue spy."

Rikki glared up at Byakuya. "And you are the heir to the House of Kuchiki," he remarked as if Byakuya's statement had been just as obvious. "Come close to me and I will kill you!" With what little strength, Rikki lifted his sword for a final time.

Byakuya paused, staring down at the man.

Realizing that Byakuya was of no mind to kill him, Rikki turned the blade on himself.

Byakuya averted his gaze skyward, and he closed his eyes. He inhaled a deep breath and cleared his mind. His mission was complete, he told himself. Perfunctorily, he took the armlet off Rikki's person, and he tucked it into the breast of his kimono. Quietly, he drew in another deep breath. The perfume of blood, metal, and _fire_ wafted over him. His eyes snapped open.

'_Hisana!'_

He reached the town to find the gang members gone. His binds and seals had been broken. Standing in the middle of the dusty street was a bloodied Hisana. She had either sent the gang members free, or she had exterminated them.

At the moment, he did not care which.

Her back was turned toward him. Her kimono was ripped and tattered, and she still clutched her Zanpakutō in her hand. Her reiatsu was strong against his. She was a Shinigami—that much he knew for sure. He also had an idea of her role in the simulation. Words—cold, chastising, taunting, cruel, kind, warm, encouraging—failed him. He just stopped dead and watched her.

Hisana paused, feeling Byakuya's reiatsu wash over her. She breathed a ragged breath, part of which caught in her chest. Collecting her strength, she turned. She looked haggard, beaten, and blood-stained. She had a black eye, a busted and bleeding lip, and a large bloody abrasion running along the side of her left cheek. On her hip was a sheathed Sode no Shirayuki. Wrapped around her arm was the armlet she had retrieved from Yoko, and around her neck hung the medallion that repelled kido attacks.

"You were sent by the Second to make certain that my life was not extinguished," he observed drily.

Hisana smiled.

"You are my bodyguard," he announced of her.

"And you are my death sentence," she murmured. Tiredly, she raised her sword, pointing it at his chest. She searched his face for any faint trace of emotion. She caught a flicker of confusion in his eyes before his face resumed his beautifully practiced look of apathy.

Byakuya lifted his head at her observation. "Your true and legal name is Hisana?"

She hesitated before nodding her head. Her hesitation, however, went unnoticed by Byakuya.

His gaze stayed locked on hers. Her cover had been exposed. It had been exposed from the beginning. Everyone in the town knew her name and face. For a moment, he considered the possibility that she assumed that he would succeed in his mission. Likely, she did not see the point in assuming a false identity. Regardless of her motives, a spy with a blown cover was a loose end to the Second. If she returned, Hisana would likely be neutralized.

_Likely_.

He turned his back to her. "Take me to the extraction point," he commanded after taking a few languid paces forward.

Hisana looked down at her sword. It was still extended in an invitation to battle, and she smiled. _'How presumptuous,' _she noted to herself. Sheathing Amaterasu, she trailed after him.

The two traveled at an ambling stroll for a few hours. Silence lingered over them—thick and suffocating. After the third hour had ticked by, Byakuya broke the tense quiet. "Yoko."

"She and Rikki were members of the Onmitsukidō as was I."

Byakuya's cadence slowed, and he prickled at her use of the past tense "was." "Her current status?"

"Dead."

Hisana wanted to ask for Sconfirmation on Rikki, but she decided against it at the last minute. The question sounded gauche to her ears, and she was certain that Byakuya would find it offensive.

"Oh," she began, pausing, "these are yours." With a few flicks of her wrist, she unfastened the armlet, and she was fussing with the chain of the medallion when Byakuya stopped and turned to watch her. Her hands trembled, and her cheeks had taken on an unnatural pallor. She looked overwhelmed by exhaustion.

"We should rest," he murmured, taking the relics as she handed them over.

"We are not far," she said absently. Looking up to hand him the medallion, she offered him a conciliatory smile. To her surprise, his stoic features had melted into a softer expression. "Unless, Lord Kuchiki would," she began, but, as she stepped forward, her foot caught on a branch. She stumbled forward only to find herself steadied by Byakuya. His hands caught her by her shoulders.

Mortification washed over her.

Hisana gaped, struggling to find the right words. _'I am sorry. My apologies. Please forgive me,'_ all came to mind. But before she could form the words, her lips were silenced with a kiss. Every muscle in her body tensed, and Hisana was pretty sure that she could feel her heart pounding in her throat. There was no protocol to follow, and she was at a complete loss.

Feeling Hisana tense against him, Byakuya deepened the kiss. He ignored the customs (that he shouldn't be holding a common woman so close). He ignored the indecency of such an act (that he, of such high noble birth, could fall prey to feelings of lust). He ignored the taste of her blood on his tongue (and that they were both physically and mentally comprised and prone to poor judgment). He ignored it all as he drew her closer. She felt so small and delicate against him. She felt so breakable—like porcelain—and his mind quickly flashed on the memory of her at the falls. The image of her pale milky skin glistening in the sun proved to be too much. He released her before he went any further.

Stunned, Hisana grasped onto his biceps, bracing herself. She felt dizzy and physically ill. The whole world felt like it was spinning out of control. Inhaling a deep breath, she glanced up at him. His body was firm and hard against her, and, for a moment, his steadiness made her feel grounded.

"Please excuse my insolence, it was a mistake." His low tenor drew her from her heady state.

Reflexively, she released her grasp on him. Hisana's breath hitched in her chest at the word "mistake." She blinked back her disarray and nodded firmly. "It is forgotten," she murmured.

Wordlessly, the two continued winding their way through the woods. Exhaustion slowly crept and settled into the marrow of her bones, and, within the span of the hour, Hisana had managed to trick her mind into believing that the impropriety had never happened.

Nearing a small foothill, Hisana fished in the breast of her kimono and withdrew a communication device. "Ice-nine to Slaughterhouse, nearing extraction point with White Knight."

Byakuya perked at his code name—White Knight.

Hisana caught his look. Unsure of whether he was intrigued or appalled by his alias, she managed a half-smile. "It is better than Little Dove."

Byakuya's brow arched at the sobriquet.

Her smile widened. "Your old code," she said, continuing toward a large tree.

Before Byakuya could say a word, the rustling of limbs and leaves filled their ears.

It wasn't wind.

In a heartbeat, the two were separated by five Onmitsukidō.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to those who read this piece. This particular chapter has been in the works for many months. (Sometimes I write chapters out of order...) I hope you all like :)


	9. Anew

**Chapter 8: Anew**

The chamber was dark and dank. The air that settled over them was musky, thick and tinged with chilly anticipation. Captains lined each side of the room. Behind the Captains stood their faithful Vice Captains. The mood was decidedly cold and clinical. Each Captain, even the affable Jūshirō Ukitake, stood stone-faced, staring straight ahead at his counterpart across the room. The Vice Captains' faces were obscured by the dark shadows looming over portions of the room, but, even if their faces could have been seen with ease, their expressions were as impenetrable as their Captains.

Oppressive. Byakuya's brain brought the word to the forefront of his thoughts. The air in the room was stale and _oppressive_.

Inhaling, he felt his body chill under Suì-Fēng's silent and steady stare. He returned the Captain's gaze, intending to match her intensity. But, a scratching at his brain pulled his attention to a figure standing slightly behind the Second's Captain. His eyes narrowed, and he tensed when he discerned its identity. It was Hisana.

He swallowed.

Hard.

Hisana was alive—barely.

Hungrily, his gaze deepened, trying to take her in and commit her to memory as if she was a fleeting thing that he wanted to capture. He had not seen Hisana since the mission, and he wondered if he would after that day. Part of him, the fiery part of him, wanted to address her. But, he repressed the urge. Instead, he watched her intently; his gaze unyielding under furrowed brows. She was still diminutive, standing at scarcely five feet and weighing less than 80 pounds. Her features were still besmirched from the mission. Sallow bruises marked her cheeks, and the cut on her lip was not healing. She was also not dressed in her Division's modified Shihakusho. Instead, she donned a simple white kimono. A sudden and icy realization washed over Byakuya at the observation: Hisana had been discharged from the Second. Her pallor, the poorly mended wounds, her slight frame all confirmed his suspicions. The Second had not even spared her the luxury of her hair. Her shoulder-length mane had been cut, and, judging by the frayed ends, Byakuya presumed that they had taken her hair by force with a sword.

If Hisana were going to leave the Second with her life, the Second would broadcast their disapproval loud and clear.

Hisana stood, despondent. She stared vacantly into the middle distance. A strange static noise filled her mind, stifling any internal deliberations that she might have wished to pursue. Her whole body felt numb—as if someone had tossed her into an icy river shortly before arriving in the cavernous meeting hall. She quivered. The small rhythmic motions that her delicate musculature made were largely imperceptible. That is, she assumed no one noticed her nervous shivering. No one save for the man glaring at her from across the room.

Briefly, Hisana shifted her weight, and, in that movement, her gaze darted up to Byakuya. _'Lord Kuchiki.'_ His name made it through the white noise that sounded in her ears. She trembled at the name. She trembled at the memory he had burned into her flesh. Her mouth heated at the thought, and, for a brief moment, her whole body felt like it was on fire. Hisana shook her head as if she could discard the memory with a small shake of her head.

Inhaling a deep breath, her large searching eyes met his gaze. He looked much improved from that day in the forest. His wounds had healed, and he stood garbed in his noble raiment of fine silks and a haori bearing his family's crest. Hisana pursed her lips, and her cheeks flushed. There was an imperceptible change in him. His well-worn lines of indifference shifted into a look of disquiet. Her mind was playing a cruel trick on her, she thought to herself.

Breaking their gaze, Hisana offered him a small twinge of a smile, and she bowed obediently. Whether or not Hisana wanted to feel obligated to Byakuya Kuchiki, she did. An intense feeling of gratefulness rose in her stomach. He had a hand in keeping her alive. She was sure of it.

Byakuya raised his head slightly as if to acknowledge her look.

Unexpectedly, the rustling of a door drawn open pierced the deafening silence. Captain Yamamoto entered the room, and, in his wake, a sense of dread wafted over the occupants. "We are commencing the evaluation of Lord Byakuya Kuchiki," Yamamoto announced in a low monotone.

"Aye," the Captains and Vice Captains stated in firm unison. In a well-choreographed movement, all bodies in the room slightly shifted toward the Captain-Commander.

"Would Lord Byakuya Kuchiki please step forward?" Yamamoto's question was more commanding than inquiring.

Byakuya obliged, taking a pace forward.

"Now, would Captain Suì-Fēng please provide an assessment of the field test?"

Suì-Fēng took a step forward. "The mission was successfully completed. All persons and items of interest were obtained."

"Were collateral sources collected?" Yamamoto asked.

"No, Captain-Commander."

"Was the task completed satisfactorily?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Captain Suì-Fēng."

Suì-Fēng stepped back into place.

"Now, one of the supporting Shinigami is present as well?"

Hisana stepped forward, heart fluttering inside her chest. Her posture was ramrod straight, and she inhaled a deep breath. "Yes, Captain-Commander," her voice broke as soon as her mouth wrapped around his title.

"State your name and rank," Yamamoto instructed.

"Hisana, pending Fifth Seat for the Thirteenth Division."

"What was your role in this field test?"

"I oversaw the operation of the field test."

"Did you interfere with this field simulation?"

"No, sir."

"Were you forced to intercede on Lord Byakuya Kuchiki's behalf at any time during the field test?"

"No, sir," she stated firmly.

"Would you describe your role as passive or active?"

"Passive."

"Did Lord Byakuya Kuchiki complete this task alone?"

"Yes. He could have completed the task successfully without my presence."

Yamamoto watched her with a skeptical eye. "What are these wounds?" he asked, referring to her injuries.

"The simulation was dangerous, sir. Lord Kuchiki handled himself quite well."

"Thank you," Yamamoto said.

Hisana bowed her head and returned to the line.

"Does anyone in this room have any objections to the Second Division's analysis?" Yamamoto waited a few brief moments before continuing, "Then, if no one present disagrees with this assessment, Lord Byakuya Kuchiki has successfully completed the Vice Captaincy test."

Silence. It was so still and quiet in the chamber.

"Lord Byakuya Kuchiki has indicated that he would like to match with a vacancy in the Sixth Division. The Sixth Division is closely associated with the Kuchiki clan, and I do not object to this arrangement," Yamamoto paused for a moment. No one spoke a word. "I, however, am not the only one among us who can raise objections to this placement. For Lord Byakuya Kuchiki to be installed as the Vice Captain of the Sixth Division, the Sixth Division Captain, Captain Ginrei Kuchiki, must consent. Does Captain Kuchiki consent to this arrangement?"

"No."

Immediately, the occupants stirred. Some of the Captains appeared bewildered by the sudden departure from expectation, but not a word was spoken. The uneasiness that fell over them, however, was palpable. Hisana's head bobbed up, and her eyes flitted to Byakuya. She was stunned, and she was expecting him to be equally as shocked, but, to her surprise, he stood wearing his patented mask of impassivity. He did not seem nonplussed, alarmed, or offended. He seemed prepared for the statement. Hisana, however, was not sure if he _was _prepared for his grandfather's harsh rejection. She had a sinking suspicion that Byakuya was holding back—silently swallowing his bitter disappointment.

Yamamoto did not seem to be expecting the answer, either. The old Captain-Commander had to reformulate his following statement. "The Sixth Division is without a Vice Captain, correct?"

"Yes," Ginrei stated in an even breath, "I wish to install Ginjirō Shirogane as my Vice Captain."

Yamamoto nodded his head. "Would you like to provide a statement as to how you came to this decision?" The question belied Yamamoto's confusion.

Ginrei stared ahead. "No."

"So it is said, and so it is agreed. Lord Byakuya Kuchiki has passed his Vice Captaincy test, but he did not successfully match to his desired placement. Captain Kuchiki has installed Ginjirō Shirogane as the Sixth Division's Vice Captain, succeeding the late Lord Sōjun Kuchiki. This adjourns today's meeting."

Yamamoto was the first to take his leave, followed closely by his Vice Captain. Captain Kuchiki exited shortly, and some faceless guards followed him. Hisana, however, stood stock-still. Her mind worked a mile a minute, scrutinizing the proceedings for the exact moment that she had gone deaf. Certainly, she had misheard. She was quick to scan the room, hoping that she could find confirmation of her mental lapse.

She found no such comfort. Captains Ukitake and Kyōraku had not stirred, seemingly befuddled by the happenings. Captain Aizen shot Byakuya an assuaging look and bowed his head respectfully. Vice Captain Ichimaru appeared amused, but Gin always appeared amused. Hisana quickly located her new Vice Captain, Kaien Shiba. He stood behind his Captain, but he had been watching Hisana through the throng of people turning to leave. Catching her attention, he smirked and shook his head.

Kaien Shiba had confirmed her suspicions: She had somehow failed. At least, it felt like she had failed. "I am sorry," she whispered into the chamber's chill.

"Your discharge papers are due at noon," Suì-Fēng's voice came crashing into Hisana's mind.

Hisana stirred for a moment. Locating the direction of the stern words, Hisana bowed obsequiously. "Yes, sir."

Suì-Fēng shot Hisana an annoyed over-the-shoulder glare before departing.

"Hello, new Fifth Seat," Kaien greeted.

Hisana started at the suddenness of his presence. Choking down a cry before it tore out of her throat, she bowed deeply. "Please, pardon my manners. Good morning, Vice Captain Shiba."

He smiled down at her. "Captain Ukitake requests your presence for tea tomorrow at 0600 hours."

Hisana straightened and offered the Vice Captain a friendly smile. She had known Kaien for years, and she knew him well enough to discern the reason for his sudden contentment. She knew that part of him wanted to say something about the proceedings. She knew that he would refrain from doing so because the better part of him would stop him. He loathed gossip.

She wondered if he loathed Byakuya more…

On making the last observation, she diverted her gaze from Kaien. Byakuya had disappeared. In fact, the capacious meeting hall was nearly empty. Only she, Kaien, Ukitake, Kyōraku and Nanao still lingered. The Captains were talking quietly among themselves, slowly inching their way toward the door. Nanao trailed behind. She and Kaien watched, unmoved by the sudden emptiness.

"Don't look so depressed, Hisana," he murmured. His voice tugged her attention back to him. "The mission was accomplished. Who knows what nobles are thinking about half the time?"

She smiled sweetly at his generosity. "Thank you, Vice Captain, for everything." Taking a few steps forward, she shot him knowing sidelong glance.

Intrigued, Kaien followed behind her.

. . . .

Her heart drummed in her chest, the sensations of which filled her entire body. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, and she could feel her pulse in her throat. She was nervous. So nervous. She clenched her new Shihakusho against her chest. It was the traditional uniform. No modifications, she observed. Her transfer had been approved, and she was grateful beyond words.

'_Grateful_,' her mind scrutinized the word, _'not happy_.' She paused for a moment, staring out the open door to her new Thirteenth Division home. _'It is late,'_ she rebuked herself. Still she stared into the nightfall. Just beyond her quarters, a deep darkness had fallen over the Seireitei. Visibility was limited to only a few meters, she noted to herself.

She was about to press her new uniform when she felt a stray breeze enter her room. Sensuously, it kissed her skin and lifted strands of her hair. She smiled, feeling it waken her tired body. "Maybe a walk isn't such a bad idea," she murmured in response.

Hisana stood. Her hands reflexively began smoothing the wrinkles from her kimono, and she inhaled a deep breath. The fragrance of honeydews perfumed the air. Without a second thought, she stepped into the cool night and began down a winding path.

Hisana knew the streets of the Seireitei like the back of her hand. Her former division had trained her on those streets. All training began in the Seireitei and then progressed to the Rukon Districts. The alleyways, hidden nooks, and faintly beaten trails were her personal friends. She knew where every tree was planted, where every bone was buried.

It was a peaceful hour. Her heart rejoiced at the sound of silence. The lights were either dimming or extinguished. Starlight informed her steps as she stepped lightly across the dirt road. Suddenly, the soft give of wet ground transformed into the rough sensation of brick against her footwear. She traversed the dead market. The vendors had gone home; the bars were closing; and, the kiosks were shuttered and locked. A few gewgaws still lined the streets—mostly dying plants that the owners did not mind losing to the occasional thief. Hisana passed all without a second thought. She knew where her feet were carrying her—as if they had a mind of their own.

She was going to the small covered bridge. She knew the bridge well as she often crossed it on her way to Rukongai. The path to the bridge was well traveled. _'Too well traveled,'_ Hisana thought as she sidestepped a large rut.

When she reached her destination, she could feel her heart swell with glee. The night was perfect. It was so dark, and the air was so thick. Her eyes quickly drew to the sight of the phosphorescent lilies floating on the surface of the water. Their pale white incandesce made her irrationally happy. Graceful in their carelessness, they floated, lighting the dark waters below them. Occasionally, she could see the tail of fish swish by. Entranced, she gripped the coarse wooden banister in her hands, and she leaned forward. Pressing her small frame into the railing, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes so she could see the water over the overgrown bushes lining the bridge.

"Careful," a strong baritone warned.

Hisana quickly retreated from the banister and searched the darkness for the man who had addressed her. Her heart spasmed; she had been certain that no one was nearby. Silently, she prayed that she had not said anything stupid to herself—or at all.

"…the banister is rotting."

Her eyes widened. "Lord Kuchiki?" She knew that voice anywhere. She did not need visual confirmation, but, instinctually, she took a few steps toward the dark figure. He stared deeply into the night, and spared her not a glance as she approached.

Shadows veiled his face, but she could tell that he was in thought. _'Likely thinking about the day's events,'_ she noted to herself. She took another step toward him despite her better judgment. He did not bristle at her sudden closeness. Instead, he continued to gaze into the water.

Hisana stared at him. Her eyes were trying to make sense of the darkness. Clothed in the dark blues and blacks of nightfall, he looked desolate.

"You are gawking," he murmured sternly.

Hisana's cheeks flushed at the observation. She remembered him saying something similar at the falls months ago. She averted her gaze back to the lilies, and she smiled at the distant memory. The memory, however, only proved to be a temporary distraction. After it played in her mind's eye, Hisana was left wondering what to do next. If he had been a squad member, she would have asked him what the matter was. Even if she had known beforehand, she would have wanted him to articulate it to her. But, she was certain that Byakuya would find the question offensive. He would shut down.

Not that he was ever particularly open.

Hisana's gaze drifted back to the noble. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she rested her hand on the banister near his. The moonbeams shone on her hand, bathing it in silver. She looked over at his hand. His skin was darker than hers was. It had a healthy glow even in the starlight. She smiled inwardly before turning her attention back to the stream. The waves were choppy, and the silvery shine of the moon and stars bounced on the water's surface. Engrossed by the night's beauty, Hisana almost missed the sensation of warmth against her hand. Sluggishly, her gaze trailed to her hand to find his long fingers gently brush against hers before settling on the railing. His skin was touching hers ever so lightly.

She looked up at him. He was still staring out onto the stream. She smiled. Without a second thought, she gently placed her hand on top of his. She could feel his muscles tense under her touch, and, for a brief moment, she wondered if he found her action uncouth. She glimpsed him staring at her for a moment. He did not appear offended or appalled.

She met his gaze.

He looked diffident.

Before she could speak, he was gone. The smell of burnt air was the only evidence that he was ever there—the only evidence that she had not hallucinated it all. Instinctively, Hisana's fingers gripped the collar of her kimono before sliding down to her chest.

Her eyes widened. "He stole my badge!" she murmured, somewhat upset by the finding. Indeed, her thin nimble fingers felt against her chest. Her badge was gone…

A wide smile split her lips, and she gave chase.

. . . .

'Six-o'-clock is such an unflattering hour,' Hisana mused. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, her muscles throbbed from overuse, and her body creaked with every movement she made. She spied her reflection in the small vanity mirror tucked in the corner of her room. She hid her tiredness well under a freshly pressed Shihakusho.

'Perhaps you should have gone to bed before four-o'-clock,' her more mordant inner voice retorted.

A corner of her mouth lifted at the thought.

A private memory flashed in her mind's eye, but she was quick to suppress it. Despite wanting to revisit it, she abstained. She worried that rehearsing the memory would ruin it.

She wondered if she would ever see him again.

She shivered.

The walk to the Thirteenth's office was short. As planned, Captain Ukitake was waiting for her in his office. Tea had been set. The doors had been drawn to let in the morning's rays, which bathed the room in a golden hue.

Hisana took seiza in front of her Captain. She sat with perfect posture, and she smiled politely. "Thank you, Captain Ukitake. The tea is very fine."

He waved his hand as if to swat the pleasantries away. "It is customary," he said, kindly, "the Thirteenth is somewhat different than the Second."

Reflexively, Hisana's brows shot up.

"Or _very_ different than the Second," Ukitake laughed, catching her look.

Hisana's cheeks flushed at his observation. "Many apologies, I did not mean—"

He shook his head. "No worries. Captain Suì-Fēng's methods are much different from my own."

Hisana tucked her chin down and smiled politely over her cup of tea.

"It may take some getting used to," he said, "we don't have many transfers from the Second Division."

Hisana tilted her head as she silently inspected his words for hidden meanings. "I suppose the Second prefers it that way."

Ukitake took a sip from his teacup. "Kaien recommended you strongly." His brows lifted as he spoke.

Hisana smiled widely. Kaien would recommend an idiot if Kaien thought it would save the man from certain death. "The Vice Captain is a good man," she said, intimating her thoughts without speaking them. "We met years ago during a simulation at the Academy."

Ukitake was a perceptive man. He easily detected the hollow sound of her voice. There was something that she was not telling him. "You went to the Academy with Kaien?" he played along.

Hisana shook her head. "No. He was overseeing a training demonstration in the World of the Living. He is a very talented and good man."

Ukitake looked at her kindly. She could tell that he was very fond of Kaien. "What made you decide on the Thirteenth?" he asked in a friendly tenor.

Hisana's brows furrowed at the question. It was not as if a shamed member of any of the Divisions could hope for many or _any_ offers.

"You received other offers," Ukitake noted, drawing the rim of the cup to his lips.

Hisana cocked her head to the side, questioningly.

His brows shot up at her confusion. "Kaien didn't tell you?" He waited a moment before elaborating. "No one told you?" When her look of confusion did not remit, he continued, "You thought Kaien's good word saved you?"

Placing her teacup down, Hisana opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to form on her lips. Indelicately, she shut her mouth, and she balled her hands together in her lap. "I assumed…" She looked to the good Captain to complete her thoughts.

Ukitake obliged her beseeching look. "When I went to make my appeal to the Central 46, I was told that the matter had been resolved but that I could add my name to the list. The Sixth Division, the House of Kuchiki, and the Fifth Division had made appeals on your behalf. The Sixth and Fifth, in turn, made you offers. I can't believe that Kaien," Ukitake started, but he was interrupted.

"You can't believe that Kaien did what?"

Hisana's head bobbed up at the familiar voice. "Good morning, Vice Captain Shiba," she said, beaming.

"Come in and have a cup of tea with us." Ukitake waved his Vice Captain over.

Smiling, Kaien obliged. "What is it that you can't believe that I would do?" He took a seat next to Hisana.

"Hisana did not know of the other offers."

"Why would she?" Kaien asked without hesitation. "She belongs here," he said, giving her sly sidelong look.

Hisana smiled at Kaien's kindness. "The Vice Captain is correct. Knowing would not have deterred me from selecting the Thirteenth. I am just so happy that I was given this opportunity." She bowed her head reverently.

With her head bowed, Hisana resisted the urge to bite her lip. Her mind quickly began digesting the information. She was not surprised that the House of Kuchiki had made an appeal on her behalf. She had assumed that Byakuya was the one who saved her.

She was shocked, however, to hear that the Sixth had made an appeal, but it made sense. The Second had assigned her to keep the heir of one of the noble families out of harm's way. Her repayment should not be death.

She already knew that Kaien would orchestrate an appeal on behalf of the Thirteenth. He had a bad habit of rescuing friends from themselves.

But, the Fifth?

She had no friends at the Fifth. She spoke at times with Gin Ichimaru only because the Shinigami from Rukongai had a custom of banding together and because she knew Rangiku Matsumoto through her affiliation with the Shinigami Women's Association. She also had no contact with the Fifth's Captain. She only _knew of_ Aizen, having seen him in passing.

"Let me excuse both Hisana and myself," Kaien began, "but the new Fifth Seat has some training to do."

Feeling Kaien stand, Hisana followed suit. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Captain." She bowed her final goodbye at the door.


	10. Beast

**Chapter 9: Beast**

Breathless, Hisana braced herself. Her stance wide, and her center of gravity low. Her fingers twitched, but she resisted the urge to grasp the hilt of her sword. No. That would prove that he had bested her, she thought to herself.

He_ had_ bested her.

He _always_ bested her.

Well, _almost always_ bested her. She smiled at the memory that tore into her mind's eye. It played with startling clarity. He had fallen prey to one of her traps. She was good at setting traps. If her reflexes had been even a little dull then the Central 46 would have tried her for reckless endangerment. But, he had learned his lesson, a little too well.

"Submit," he murmured. He dropped out of his battle posture. His muscles relaxed, and, with a calm gaze, he watched her.

Her left eye twitched. She could have sworn that he was smirking at her. His impassive features belied a smirk; she was convinced. Not that she blamed him. She would have gloated. She gloated the one and only time that she got the best of him.

'Dammit,' she thought to herself, 'might as well.' She unsheathed her blade. The sharp "ting" of metal against metal rang out in the dark forest.

. . . .

"You look tired." The observation came as no surprise. Hisana lifted her gaze to find Kaien looming in the doorway. He looked breezy. His cheeks flushed from a brisk workout, and he smelled of grass and nature. With the weather so pleasant, he had moved the drills to the outdoor training arena.

Hisana bowed her head obediently. "Good morning, Vice Captain." She was at her desk, finishing some paperwork. Mindlessly, she continued to date and sign forms.

"Don't make the boys cry today, okay?" Kaien said, shaking his head.

Her lips turned down. As the Fifth Seat, she had not drawn the A Team to train. Or the B Team. Or the C Team. She was in charge of training some of the weakest Shinigami of the Thirteenth. Which, given the Thirteenth's propensity to take in charity cases, the Shinigami under her direction were _weak_. She shook the observation away. 'They are not weak. They are undisciplined.'

"Yes, Vice Captain," she said, lowering her head.

Kaien was about to step through the door, but he stopped short, and turned. "How is everything going?"

Hisana looked up from her paperwork. The darkness in her mood dissipated the moment she met his gaze. She placed her pen down, and she rested her hands in her lap. "Well," she said softly. She hated the question partly because Kaien asked it so frequently and partly because she did not know what he was conveying by asking it. Obviously, she was well. She was healthy; her work was always timely and prompt; she never missed an appointment; and, while she was sure that her squad hated her, they were improving. Kaien was aware that she was competent. He had evidence.

So, what was he _really _asking?

Did he want to know whether she felt like she was fitting in? She was slowly assimilating to the Thirteenth's culture. After a few rather large gaffes on her part—mostly revolving around her harsh training methods—she was falling into place.

Did he want to know if she was satisfied? Hisana was much happier at the Thirteenth than the Second. The Thirteenth was more peaceful and communal. At first, the family-like quality of the Thirteenth had irked her, but, now, it was starting to grow on her.

She had trust issues. Maybe that was his meaning? Kaien was very observant, and he was very polite. Maybe the question was an indirect indictment of her character? Hisana pushed the thought away, filing it for later consideration. "Thank you for inquiring, Vice Captain. Is all well on your end?"

Kaien smiled courteously. "I am well." He looked like he was about to say something, but he stayed himself. "Get a good night's rest tonight. It is an order."

Hisana's eyes widened, and she blushed. Shocked, she wordlessly watched him step into the warm spring morning. 'What did that mean?'

'There is no way he knows. Right?'

. . . .

Byakuya had understood his grandfather's decision. It was painful. He could not deny that the insult still smarted—still plucked a discordant string in his heart. He presumed that it was meant to hurt his pride. It was meant to encourage him to conform.

Byakuya stood in the market. Beside him was Lady K—. He looked down at her, searching for her name. 'Lady… K…' He was certain it began with a K. At least, he was fairly certain that it began with a K. Or, was it an N?

After an intense wracking of his brain, he settled on Lady Kokiden, and he smiled to himself as he watched her lick at her ice cream. She was a small woman—delicate, short, pale, and slender. Expensive bobbles pinned up her shoulder length hair, and she donned a finely painted kimono. The resemblance was uncanny, he noted to himself. He wondered if that is why he had chosen her as his consort for the day.

Glimpsing his look, her large eyes met his gaze, and her cheeks flushed a bright crimson. "Is Lord Kuchiki hungry?" she asked. Sensuously, her tongue lapped at the frozen treat.

'This is tedious,' he thought wryly to himself. He inhaled a deep breath, and, silently, he prayed that the day would quickly hand its reins over to the night. He preferred the night, and he preferred the company that the night brought.

"Perhaps I could tempt Lord Kuchiki with my cream?" Her voice was breathless and gentle.

Growing bored of Lady Kokiden's soft words and indecent proposals, his gaze drifted to the crowd swirling around them. Nobles, Shinigami, and vendors filled the market. It was the first day of the Cherry Blossom festival, and the displays were all very vibrant. A swirl of pastels danced around him.

"Is Lord Kuchiki excited about the events tonight?" Her voice rose above his mental noise. Byakuya looked at her momentarily as if to discern her meaning. "The dancers and fireworks are tonight."

His expression soured in response. "Oh."

She brightened, seemingly immune to his agitation. He much doubted that she had the capacity to take another's perspective. "Yes. It is supposed to be the most wonderful event."

"They say that every year," he snorted, turning his attention back to the crowd where he spied _her_. Like a laser, his gaze followed her movements.

_Hisana_.

She was winding her way through the crowd. The lines of her face were harsh. She looked as if she was hunting someone or something—hot on its trail. She was on a mission.

Amused, he watched her effortlessly thread her way through the crowd. Without a second thought, she plucked a long black scarf from a vendor's shelf, and she wrapped it around her head. No payment. She had timed it perfectly. The vendor turned just as she passed.

Byakuya lost sight of her when she crossed in front of the kiosk nearest him. "Is everything alright, Milord?" His companion's voice was not lost on him. He chose to ignore her question; instead, his eyes searched the horde of bodies for the one that most interested him. She had seemingly disappeared or so he thought before glimpsing Hisana nearing the wall separating the Seireitei from the First Rukon District. She clutched the scarf around her head, and she turned to check her surroundings. For a fleeting moment, her gaze met his. Her eyes were clear and burned with a ferocious intensity. So intense, in fact, that he had the distinct feeling that she was looking _through _him. Like a flash of lightning, she was gone.

"Milord, is everything well?"

Byakuya's attention lingered on the wall for several drawn-out moments before he acknowledged the court lady. "You were saying something?"

Before she could shoot him a hurt look, he had seemingly disappeared into the ether.

. . . .

Byakuya was swift, quiet, and precise. Yet, somehow, he found himself at the business end of a sword. He had misjudged.

"You misjudged." Hisana echoed his thoughts. She appeared contented by her victory. Too contented.

Byakuya replayed the events, analyzing his mistakes. He had made at least two errors. First, he had followed too closely behind her. He could tell that she was agitated when she passed through the Second Rukon District. By the Third Rukon District, he could tell that she was devising a way to shake him, and she almost lost him in the Fifth Rukon District. She was very astute, and she was adaptive.

His second mistake was falling into a familiar pattern. He knew the trap that she was setting, or, he _thought _he knew the trap. It was an old maneuver—one that the Second Division had passed down to generations of young Shinigami. He had learned it from the former Captain of the Second when he was a youth. It began by veering widely off course, usually in an unpopulated area. Isolated, the target was exposed, and the Shinigami could easily take the target down from behind.

Realizing that she was leading him into a densely forested area in the Sixth Rukon District, he prepared for the setup. He had planned to catch her before she struck from the back. However, she was expecting _him_ specifically, and she attacked from the front.

And, there he was. Standing at the end of her blade like an idiot. "You win."

Hisana chuckled, and, tilting her head to the side, she flashed him a knowing grin. "I didn't win. What? Do you really think that I could have killed you?" Her eyes widened expressively. "My blade isn't even aligned properly!"

Byakuya examined the sword. Indeed, if she had tried to thrust it forward the blade would have nicked the side of his neck. It would not have been a pleasant experience, he noted to himself, but it would not have been fatal either.

"Even if I had aligned the blade perfectly, you possess enough reiatsu to survive the strike."

Byakuya watched her impassively. "I agree. You are not very good."

Hisana grinned widely at his mordant observation, and she sheathed her blade. "Despite your intrusion, which is illegal, mind you," she thoughtlessly began to fumble in her kimono, "I am glad to see you," she added, withdrawing a small Polaroid.

Byakuya's brows lifted at her words.

"Do you know this man?"

Byakuya looked down at the poorly shot black and white photograph. "Yes. It is Lord Kogimi. Why?"

Hisana's lips twitched at the name. "He is suspected of sedition." She looked Byakuya in the eye as she said the words.

Byakuya's jaws tightened, and his lips pulled into a thin line.

"I said _suspected_ of sedition, not tried and convicted." Hisana had become adept at reading Byakuya Kuchiki.

"He keeps a mistress nearby," Byakuya said reluctantly.

She perked up at his observation. "Do you think that you could take me there?" Before she could get all the words out, Byakuya had already taken several long strides forward.

Wordlessly, she followed ten paces behind him. She bowed her head respectfully. "Thank you, Lord Kuchiki," she whispered. Byakuya heard her words, and he shot her a sidelong stare. "What evidence do you possess?" he asked.

"Correspondence with confirmed dissidents in the South 43. Nothing that can't be explained away." Her voice went up a few octaves as she spoke.

Silence fell over them until they reached a small cabin in the middle of the woods. "Do you feel that?" Hisana asked, breaking the quiet.

Byakuya examined the area. There was something eerie lurking in the woods. A cool foreboding wind rustled the tree limbs and leaves to and fro. "It can't be," Hisana muttered. Instinctually, she dropped her hand to her weapon. Her muscles assumed her well-rehearsed battle stance. "A hollow?"

Byakuya took a few steps forward toward the door. He stopped short. His suspicions confirmed. He felt for the hilt of his Zanpakutō. Nothing. The nerves in his hand prickled at Senbonzakura's absence. He breathed a sigh. He had left his Zanpakutō at the manor. He had no ambitions of training during the festival days.

Hisana moved forward, peering into the cabin. Her eyes widened, and she gasped. Deep in the dark of the cabin, she could see the gleam of two eyes. A pale red incandesce stared back at her. Her eyes narrowed, and she unsheathed her Zanpakutō.

"Wait," Byakuya ordered, and Hisana was quick to comply.

Slowly, the hollow scuttled forward. It was small, mammal-like. It was unlike any hollow that Hisana had ever seen. Readying her blade, she watched cautiously as Byakuya attacked it with kido. The creature appeared stunned, but quickly retaliated by flicking its bladed tongue out several meters. Both Hisana and Byakuya dodged the attack. In a well-choreographed maneuver, Byakuya launched a kido attack, and Hisana broke the creature's mask with her Zanpakutō.

The mask split in half, felling the hollow. Hisana paused for a moment, finding the hollow's lack of spiritual pressure odd. Her musing, however, was abruptly brought to an end the moment she felt Byakuya grab her by the arm and flee.

Shielding her with his body, he braced against the hollow's sudden surge of spiritual energy. The bright pale light reached into the heavens, and it illuminated the forest in a blinding silvery sheen. Hisana winced at the pressure. It was overwhelming. She felt overwhelmed, heated and dizzy by the bright light. Stabilizing herself against the surge, she buried and twisted her fingers in the folds of Byakuya's haori.

So inundated by the sensation, Hisana did not sense when the pressure ceased. Her blood pounded in her veins, and a shrill ringing noise filled her ears and mind. So overpowered, she wavered against Byakuya, certain that her next sensation was going to be ground against face. Byakuya, however, caught her before her head hit the grass.

She opened her eyes upon feeling his hand against the back of her neck. Her eyes quivered, and her breathing became shallow. She was dazed, he observed. Slowly, she came to. Her eyes began to register visual stimuli, and she was greeted by Byakuya's probing stare.

"What was that?"

Byakuya's brows furrowed in response.

Shakily, she propped herself up on her elbows. Her muscles were unsteady, threatening to betray her at any moment. Hisana, shut her eyes for a few moments, and inhaled deep breaths. She was shaken. 'It was nothing,' she told herself. 'Just a hollow.' She had dispatched many of them in her time. 'It was nothing,' she repeated to herself over and over.

Byakuya stood, and he extended her his hand. Hisana accepted, and, with a small tug, he pulled her to her feet. Hisana's blood pressure plummeted the moment she stood. She faltered only for her companion to save her yet again. "I am sorry," she murmured against his chest.

Feeling her equilibrium returning, she pulled away and gave words of appreciation. Byakuya watched her silently, impassively. She could not read his face, but part of her knew that he was not mentally present with her. He was deep in thought. His kindness was likely automatic—muscle memory.

Hisana glanced back at the small cabin. The mistress was dead that was for certain, and she could return to her division with at least that much to report. She wondered if she needed to elaborate on the strange hollow attack. Internally, she drafted the wording of her memo for a few moments when she saw Byakuya stir in her periphery.

"Would you like me to escort you back to Seireitei?" she asked gently, "It is the least I could do."

Byakuya gazed down at her for a moment. "If you wish."

She smiled in response. _If you wish_ was code for _yes_. He was never going to ask her to walk with him. He did not have to. His company was highly desired; he could have summoned some beautiful court lady to the hinterland just to escort him back to Seireitei. "The festival begins tonight," she began after a few minutes of oppressive silence. Hisana usually enjoyed walking in silent with him, but, at the moment, she was feeling a nervous chatter come over her.

He looked unmoved by her observation.

"Do you have plans?"

That question garnered her with a cocked brow.

_'Of course he has plans!'_ she chided herself.

"The festival begins tonight," he parroted back at her.

"Does Lord Kuchiki mock my efforts at small talk?" she teased.

A small half-smile curved a corner of his mouth upward. Catching the look, Hisana smiled.

"Do you have plans?" He seemed uncomfortable asking the question. He immediately looked down at her the moment the words escaped him.

Hisana's eyes narrowed as she ran through her schedule. No. She had nothing planned…besides getting sleep per her Vice Captain's orders. "Nothing interesting," she said, "besides a date with a fetching hot spring from the First," she added sardonically.

He looked down at her as if she were some fey creature.

"The springs are always so full, but everyone will be away for the festivities tonight," she said, staring into the dusk settling over the sky.

Byakuya's features softened at her explanation. She made it sound inviting, he had to admit. His night, however, would be taken up by myriad social events. Petty, boring social events attended by equally petty and boring women. Women who had no sense about them. Women who mistook personality for captious comments and incessant preening. The thought alone sucked the light right out of his eyes.

Upon reaching the Third District, Hisana paused. "We should probably part ways," she said distantly. "We wouldn't want to upset any of those fine noblewomen," she joked.

Byakuya's eyes widened at her words. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks. She had seen Lady Kokiden. Of course, she had seen Lady Kokiden. Lady Kokiden had been standing right beside him, obscenely stuffing herself full of ice cream. Byakuya was not quite sure why it mattered to him that Hisana had seen his dalliance with the noblewoman, but it did. His lips parted defensively.

Hisana smiled at his strange expression. 'So remote yet so conflicted.' He was a paradox to her at times. "Thank you for your assistance, Lord Kuchiki," she bowed politely before taking off.

Watching the dust settle from her well-executed flashstep, Byakuya felt a sense of longing at her departure. The longing, however, was quickly replaced by regret. She had asked him about his plans, and she had revealed that she would be alone for the evening. He should have asked her to join him. Byakuya scrutinized the idea. Part of him realized that such an action would draw great ire. Part of him did not give a damn. Another, darker part of him, would have relished the noblewomen's indignation.

. . . .

Hisana returned to the office that she shared with several of the ranked Shinigami in her division. It was empty. Quickly, she drew up a report of her mission. She detailed _most _of what happened. She was about to sign off on it when her brush strokes were interrupted by a sudden presence.

"Good evening, Vice Captain," she stated in a dulcet tone.

Kaien took a seat in front of her desk. "How was your first mission?"

Hisana grimaced. "I got a positive ID on Lord Kogimi. When I reached his mistress's home, I was attacked by a hollow."

Kaien's brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

She smiled. "I am well. But, I don't know where the Lord has gone. The mistress is dead."

"Who did you get the ID from?"

Hisana's eyes flitted up to the ceiling. Her jaws went slack. "Um," she murmured noncommittally.

Kaien readied an incredulous glare for anything besides a name.

"Lord Kuchiki," she said after a pregnant pause.

"Lord Kuchiki?" Kaien appeared flummoxed. "_Byakuya _Kuchiki?"

Repressing the urge to wince, Hisana managed a conciliatory smile. "That is the Kuchiki in question. It was fine. He was very helpful," she said, anticipating Kaien's well-practiced harangue. It was the same harangue, and it happened every time anyone mentioned Byakuya.

Kaien lifted his head, catching himself mid-curse. "See if you can get Byakuya to give you a confirmation the next time he sees Lord Kogimi." Kaien sounded doubtful in his order.

Hisana nodded her head compliantly. "Is there anything else, Vice Captain?"

Kaien shook his head. "I think that is all." Rocking to his feet, he looked down at her. "You should come to the festival tonight."

"I thought I was under orders to get rest," she teased.

"You are. So you can't stay late."

She shared a smile with Kaien. Cocking her head, her smile quickly took on a knowing quality. "Did you invite Miyako?"

Kaien cocked a brow.

"You should," Hisana said sweetly. "You are the Vice Captain. She isn't going to refuse, and the festival is perfect timing."

He averted his gaze, and, shaking his head, he placed a palm against the back of his neck. He looked nervous. Focusing his attention back on Hisana, he opened his mouth, "Would you like to join me tonight?"

Hisana smiled brightly. "Are we role-playing?"

His expression deadened. "No. I am asking you, Hisana, if you would join me tonight."

She immediately blanched. Realizing that he had not made some cruel joke at her expense, she stammered out an, "Of course." She dearly hoped that she had managed to save the situation. "You don't have to ask me so formally, Vice Captain."

Kaien appeared satisfied by her answer before leaving.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath, closed her eyes, and prayed that she did not bump into Byakuya Kuchiki.

. . . .

The festival lit the night. Loud boisterous music filled the air. The breeze was chilly, but it made its amends with delightful fragrances. There was so much—so much food, so much happiness, so much entertainment. Hisana buried the pang of sorrow that pelted her heart. There was so much here but so little outside the city's walls. She could almost feel the pain and hunger of the outermost districts.

"You look displeased," Kaien noted, handing her an iced sorbet. Before she could protest his kindness, he had shoved it into the palms of her hands. "Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. Hisana smiled her gratitude.

Kaien's gaze drifted skyward, and Hisana's followed in kind. "The fireworks are beautiful," she said against the spring's soft breeze.

With his head still tilted up, Kaien furtively glimpsed her from the corner of his eye. Her pale skin reflected the fireworks' shades of red, gold, and purple. The colors playfully danced across her face, and her eyes, so wide in wonderment, gleamed in the night. Looking into the dark night sky, he smiled to himself.

"We should go watch the dancers," he yelled over the explosives' loud booms.

Hisana's eyes flickered in his direction. "Yes," she said.

"So you worked in the Second," Kaien began, conversationally, "do you know any good secrets?" He paused, letting her squeeze through the small entrance leading to the dancer's area. A boyish look played across his face.

Hisana smiled widely at his question. "So many juicy secrets," she said sardonically. She immediately dipped the small plastic spoon in her sorbet and stuffed it in her mouth.

"You can't leave someone hanging like that!" he chastised playfully.

She pointed to her filled mouth, and she shrugged helplessly.

He trailed after her. "What did you learn about me?"

Removing the spoon from her tongue, she planted it in the sorbet, and she lifted her brows. "You, sir, are a good guy. The Second doesn't keep track of Soul Society's resident good guys. There are so few of you."

He smiled at her comment. "Well, who do you keep tabs on?"

Leaning her head toward him, she said, "No one immediately interesting."

"You wouldn't tell me if you knew something, would you?"

Hisana shook her head. "Classified. The whole lot."

The two watched the dance, amused at all the right moments and clapping appropriately when it ended. After the dance, one of the Thirteenth's squadrons pulled Kaien and Hisana into a local bar. The atmosphere shifted from festive to celebratory the moment that men from the Eighth joined them. The air was thick with smoke and drink, and the noise consisted of loud drunken tongues. Hisana and Kaien both indulged as they sat and listened to the men's war stories. Male bravado never ceased to amuse (and amaze) her. Small, slow hollows suddenly became Gillian-level opponents. Missions carried out in broad daylight in the safest neighborhoods of the world of the living took on a sinister tone. Hisana was grateful that the men spared her from tales of female conquest. She presumed that Kaien's presence silenced those stories because her presence never seemed to make the men think twice about it.

Hisana did not know how many hours had passed before Kaien and she took leave of the men's company. When they crossed into the spring's chill, Hisana glanced skyward to see the dawn begin to break over the horizon. Slow from drink and warmed by his company, she took a few steps forward. Her body felt lumbering and leaden, and her emotions had been thoroughly numbed. In a haze, she wound her way to the Thirteenth's barracks, using Kaien as a guide. They continued to giggle and chatter at the stories told in the bar. Kaien was still quite shrewd even with his wits dampened by intoxication.

He escorted her to her quarters. Nearing her door, she fumbled with the lock. She sloppily angled the key into the keyhole. The latch retracted. She turned and smiled up at him.

He looked tense, and he watched her with baited breath. Lowering his head, he caught himself before he encroached on what little space remained between them. "Do you mind if I kiss you?"

His words set her entire body on fire. Her cheeks flashed a bright red, and she nodded. His lips were soft and gentle against hers. The kiss was short but sweet. When he straightened, she could tell that he was nervous. He watched her for a few moments.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, pushing the door back. She did not wait for a response. Hearing the clack of wood against wood, Hisana paused, feeling a spasm of guilt seize her heart.

She considered the implications.


	11. Avenues

**Chapter 10: Avenues**

It was early morning. The sun was rising. The sky was bright. The world was quiet. Wrapped in a blanket, Hisana sat on the bank of a lazy stream and watched her breath ghost in front of her. It was cold; the winter's chill still infused the spring's mornings. The heat from her cup of tea, however, kept her thin fingers and palms warm, and she bent close to the steam rising from the hot liquid.

Her eyes stung—tired from searching. She always searched. Long days at her division bled into long nights in Rukongai. She was on constant surveillance. The worry in her heart had only intensified in the ensuing years. The flames had turned her former life to ash. Life had taught her to survive, and, in its lesson, it exposed her as a brutal, selfish creature. The Second had beaten into her the skills necessary to infiltrate—to pass seemingly undetected—like a stray wind. She was uncertain what she would learn from the Thirteenth.

She banished the thoughts from her mind. It was too early to think. Too early to properly function. Instead, she mindlessly surveyed the horizon. The morning fog rose from the lazy stream only for the sun's rays to burn the mist when its reach extended too high. She could hear birdsong in the distance. Occasionally, a rabbit's quick movements caught her eye before it hopped into a bush.

"You look cold."

Feeling a heavier blanket settle around her shoulders, Hisana did not move. It took her mind a few moments to process the voice. _'Kaien.'_

She finally broke from her inner world. Stirring under the heavy wool fabric, she turned to face him. "Good morning, Vice Captain." Her voice was soft but devoid of emotion.

He sat close to her, holding a cup of steaming sake in his hand. Noticing her probing stare, he lifted his cup and murmured, "Hair of the dog." As he said the words, however, his eyes locked on the horizon.

She offered him a small smile before turning to face the stream. The water was so clear. She could see the flat stones lining the ground, and, when the waves were just right, she could see small fish flicker back and forth, searching for sustenance.

The two sat in a meditative silence for many lingering moments. Both of them were too groggy to speak. Both of them had come to the stream, searching for clarity. Neither of them had found the elusive spark for which they sought.

"You visit Rukongai in your spare time."

Hisana glanced up at him. She was unable to determine whether he had made a statement or had asked a question. "At times."

"Are you searching for something?"

"Yes."

Kaien looked askance. "Where do you go in Rukongai? Maybe I have contacts."

Hisana smiled bitterly, and she averted her attention to the water lapping at the bank. "Inuzuri."

Silence fell over them, and Hisana shifted uncomfortably. The rustling of cloth sliding against cloth filled her ears until Kaien broke the stillness. "I have story about Inuzuri." His voice was at once soft and steady. "I knew this guy once. He told me this tale. Now, he was a pretty colorful guy so take it for what it's worth."

She tilted her head up and gazed into Kaien's face. His features were unreadable, and his eyes remained fixed on the stream as he spoke.

"He said that he met two dark-haired princesses when he was in Inuzuri. He said their souls—their souls burned like fire and ice. He said that he had hoped to save them, but he was called away. When he returned, the sisters had fled. He said he always regretted not finding them, but he was sure they had survived."

She smiled up at him. "What would princesses be doing all the way in Inuzuri?"

Kaien grinned down at her, and he scratched the back of his head. He looked boyish, Hisana noted to herself. "Now, _that_ I do not know. The guy was prone to embellishments."

"Where is your friend, currently?" she asked sweetly, hoping that she had tempered her inquiry.

Considering her question, Kaien's face hardened. He stared into the middle distance, and, after a long pause, he answered, "He left many years ago. Lost to the ether."

She furrowed her brows, registering his pained expression. "Not many people know much about Inuzuri."

His brows perked up. "We met there."

A half-hearted grin lengthened her mouth. "Yes. Yes, we did."

"You are from there."

Her countenance dimmed for a moment, and she lowered her gaze to the ground. "I suppose you could say that."

He looked inquisitive—as if he wanted her to elaborate. Hisana suspected that he had a right to look curious. Not many Shinigami hailed from the South 78th and for good reason. The conditions are harsh. Resources are scarce. Crime is rampant, and the district is not ideally situated for gaining quick admission into the Academy. "A story for another day," she said, standing.

Kindly, Hisana extended her hand to Kaien to help him up. He accepted her generosity, and, straightening, he watched as she adjusted her layers of wraps. Catching his look, she paused for a moment. She wondered what he was thinking about as he observed her. His features looked intense but there were no signs of vexation. It was perplexing, she noted to herself.

So perplexing.

. . . .

The golden hue of morning was maturing into midday. Byakuya stared out onto the Thirteenth's training ground from inside Ukitake's office. The door to Ukitake's office was drawn so the Captain could glimpse the proceedings. Rarely, however, did Ukitake feel the need to correct his seated officers in their methods. He preferred the fresh air and the occasional distraction that bodies in motion often provoked.

Seated in seiza, Byakuya took a small sip of his tea. He could hear the sound of Ukitake's voice; however, he did not comprehend the good Captain's words. Instead, Byakuya focused on the drills being performed only a stone's throw away.

"I have entailed my entire estate to Kaien's beloved piglet, Bonnie."

Within a blink of an eye, Byakuya turned to his companion. Wide-eyed, he stared at Ukitake as if the man had suddenly gone mad.

"You _were_ listening," Ukitake teased. "I could close the door if the drills are bothersome."

Before Ukitake had the chance to reach out to shut the door, Byakuya lifted a hand. "Do not trouble yourself."

Resuming proper seiza, Ukitake's long slender fingers wrapped around his teacup. Quietly, he watched Byakuya, following the young man's gaze. Ukitake appeared quite nonplussed by his company's sudden lack of focus. Byakuya had barely spoken, and the young noble appeared thoroughly engrossed in some musing or observation. Amused, Ukitake scrutinized the training area for items of interest.

There was a flurry of motion. Hisana closely monitored the unranked Shinigami's training. Kaien was running drills with the Third Seat, Miyako, and the two Fourth Seats, Kiyone Kotetsu and Sentarō Kotsubaki. The Sixth Seated officer was likely on paperwork duty.

Ukitake's brows knitted together. There was nothing of out of the ordinary. So, what was Byakuya Kuchiki looking at? Ukitake's gaze shifted to Byakuya, and he tried to discern the nobleman's line of sight. Carefully, he followed Byakuya's stare. "Is there _something_ of interest?" he asked at length.

Byakuya paid the Captain no heed.

Again, Ukitake's attention shifted back to the drills. Nothing. Hearing Hisana's voice sternly correct one of the men, Ukitake considered the possibility that Byakuya was absorbed by the unseated officer's poor technique. He dismissed the idea.

"Is there _someone _of interest?"

Again, no response.

Ukitake wondered if Kaien annoyed Byakuya. He knew that the two men had an intense dislike of one another. When Ukitake looked to confirm his suspicions, he noticed that Byakuya was not watching Kaien. Then, Ukitake considered the possibility that Byakuya was interested in one of the Thirteenth's females. He considered his roster of Shinigami. The only female that would be appropriate for Byakuya's standing was Miyako. Byakuya, however, was not watching Miyako. He was watching Hisana's squad, which was composed entirely of males.

Byakuya suddenly perked up. His expression remained impassive, but Ukitake noticed the subtle difference in his companion. He looked _perturbed_. Glancing back to the arena, realization finally washed over Ukitake.

Kaien had finished sparring with the Third and Fourth Seats, and he had wandered over to Hisana. The two began to speak, but the sounds of men skirmishing obscured their words. Whatever Kaien said, however, elicited a giggle from Hisana.

Ukitake watched Byakuya. If he had not known better, Ukitake would have thought Hisana's giggle had taken form, grown legs, sauntered across the field, and slapped Byakuya across the face. The noble took umbrage at the _giggle._ Byakuya's whole body stiffened at the offense.

Ukitake chocked down a laugh at the sight. "The Fifth Seat is getting along quite well here at the Thirteenth. I am glad that both you and Kaien recommended her."

"_Shiba_ recommended her?" Byakuya seethed.

"Yes, she met Kaien years ago." Ukitake was not sure if he had suddenly damned Hisana because Byakuya looked disgusted. "I assume you have a past with her as well."

Byakuya stared at Ukitake for a brief moment before gazing back to the field. Hisana trained her focus on her squad of men. Kaien stood a hairsbreadth away, observing her instruction. Unprovoked, she glanced up at the Captain's office. Her gaze locked onto Byakuya's eyes.

She froze. Every muscle in her body locked in tension. Her slate blue eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed. She stood in silent panic for what felt like eternity. She had no idea what to do. Ignore him? Acknowledge him? Stare idiotically at him? Hisana bowed her head in his direction and smiled.

Byakuya's displeasured look softened.

Ukitake cocked a brow upon realizing what had just occurred. "Would you like me to invite her to join us? You could gawk at her better then," he teased half-heartedly. To his surprise, Byakuya did not look appalled by the suggestion. He merely glanced over at the Captain. No emotion clung to his visage; however, a gleam in his eye belied a calm resoluteness.

"Excuse me," Byakuya said, taking to his feet.

Ukitake blinked, confused. Before he could utter his goodbye, Byakuya had left.

"So odd…"

. . . .

Hisana gripped her bokken. The weight of the wooden sword felt off to her. She did not connect to it the way she did with her zanpakutō. Kaien, however, would have it no other way. They had argued the matter, and he had won.

She hated the bokken.

"Don't look so pained. It is a wooden sword—not a snake."

A corner of her mouth pulled to the side. She was not so sure.

"You look so uncomfortable. You can't tell me that the Second did not make you train with bokken."

"Actually, I can," she said teasingly. "You see the funny thing about swords is that they make noise."

Kaien smiled at her remark. "Well, I am not training you on hakuda today. The Thirteenth uses swords."

Hisana forced a half-hearted grin. She was not so convinced. "I am ready, Vice Captain."

"No kido," he said firmly.

She pursed her lips.

"No flashstep," he added.

Her brows lowered.

"Only swordsmanship."

She narrowed her gaze. She was definitely going to lose. She hated losing.

Kaien took a position across from her. She watched him carefully. His hands were positioned far apart on the hilt of his wooden sword. She prepared herself against his quick strike. Reflexively, she parried.

"Watch the point of the sword," he corrected. Countering her attack, he let her sword pass his only to come up on the other side. The tip of his sword was positioned a hairsbreadth from her face.

They separated, returning to start position.

"You have to want this," Kaien stated.

She looked up at him.

"I don't think you do."

She inhaled a deep breath, and lifted her head.

"Pretend that I am a foe."

She gave a slight nod of her head. She held her bokken high. Kaien assumed a lower position with his sword. For a moment, she calculated his next move. She was fairly certain that he was feigning a low to midlevel strike. His strike would be high.

Cautiously, she took a few steps closer. Her bokken met his on her downward motion. Kaien crouched. She retaliated by bringing her bokken down from on high. Parrying her attack, he quickly stood and countered with a downward strike on her wrist. The sword's pressure was feather light but enough to let her know who the victor was.

"Don't worry so much about what I am doing," he said.

She returned to the start position. Her sword was high but angled. He positioned his bokken low. He was the first to attack. She had misread his positioning, but she managed to salvage the parry. She countered; he parried. His next strike was high. Hisana crouched, catching his sword above her head. Reflexively, she slid her sword over his and eased his bokken to the ground.

"Much better," he praised.

She bowed. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

"It is getting late," he observed through the dark blues blanketing the room. The setting sun had provided light when they began, but, then, they had to contend with the shadows inching across the floor.

"It is," she said, dropping the bokken to her side.

"We should stop for today."

She bowed her head. "Yes, Vice Captain."

Soundlessly, he crossed the room toward her. He took the end of her wooden sword in his hand. Her grip was firm, but it loosened once she realized that he was collecting it. "See, it wasn't so bad," he said sardonically.

She smiled and looked up at him to find him staring at her with that inscrutable expression from the morning. Her body heated under his gaze, and, unthinking, she tilted her head up. Kaien lowered his head, drawing closer with each heartbeat.

_Clack_. The sound of the shoji door being thrown back stayed Kaien.

"Vice Captain Shiba!" It was Kiyone Kotetsu. She stood in the doorway, panting. "We lost communication with a squad sent to the World of the Living!"

"I will handle it," he said sternly. He took a step back from Hisana, and he bowed his head in her direction.

"Be safe, Vice Captain," Hisana said softly. She watched Kaien and Kiyone disappear into the night.

Inhaling a deep breath, she moved to the door. She paused at the threshold and looked back into the dark room. Her jaws tightened, and she stepped out, closing the door behind her. She began toward her quarters when she spotted Miyako.

"Good evening," she greeted cordially. A feeling of contrition burned in her chest. Miyako was very kind and gentle, and Hisana had a sinking suspicion that she was rather taken by Kaien. Hisana also had a feeling that Kaien had an affinity for Miyako as well.

"Hello, Hisana," she replied. "Did you hear about the squad?"

Hisana nodded. "Vice Captain Shiba has gone."

"I hope everyone is safe," she said softly into the night.

"I trust that he will do everything to ensure his squad's safety."

Miyako smiled at Hisana, but her eyes hinted at her apprehension. "I hope Vice Captain Shiba returns safely."

Hisana managed a small smile. "He will. He is very strong."

"And good," Miyako added.

Hisana nodded. "And good," she echoed. "Is there anything that we can do?"

Miyako shook her head. "Nothing but wait."

Hisana politely bowed, and Miyako reciprocated the action. "Good evening."

Hisana continued to her quarters. Upon entering her humble room, she turned on a light, and she began to disrobe. The night's chill kissed her skin. Reflexively, she folded her sweaty uniform and undergarments. Her hands quickly worked to unfurl a subdued yukata. She inspected its quality. It was a mint green color with a swimming salmon pattern across the bottom fourth of the garment. It was tattering at the seams, and the hem was fraying. It would do, she told herself.

She dressed and was out the door.

The city was a bundle of kinetic energy. It was the last day of the festival, and the organizer had meant for the finale to impress. Firecrackers burst in the sky; raining brilliant colors down on the citizens. Warm bright lanterns lit the streets. Confetti scattered on the wind. Street entertainers plied onlookers with their talents. Vendors aggressively vied for patrons. Music of every kind intermingled into one loud cacophony.

Hisana pushed through the crowd. It felt like she was infiltrating a living organism. The throng was warm; it moved, breathed, and pushed back. Bright colors, flashing lights, loud noises, and pungent confections numbed her senses. Finding a clearing, Hisana took the opportunity and flashstepped out of the market.

She stopped at the outskirts of the thicket leading to the covered bridge. She glanced over her shoulder. She could still hear the roar of merrymaking in the background. The market gleamed brightly like a polished jewel. Inhaling a breath of fresh air, she followed the well-worn path to the bridge.

The normal tranquility of the bridge and stream had been disturbed. The phosphorescent flowers did not shine as brightly. The din emanating from the marketplace broke the area's stillness. The air had an almost smoky quality from the vast quantities of food being prepared. Despite the festivities taking place miles away, peacefulness still lingered over that area. She felt instantly calmer as she crossed the bridge. Just as she was about to take another step, she froze in her tracks.

Shock.

Her heart stopped beating. She watched him with wide-eyed wonderment, and her breath caught in her chest when he found her. Hisana was certain that an eternity passed before she could find the courage to breath. Two eternities passed before her heart started with an angry _thump_.

He was dressed in the raiment of a nobleman—fine silks that were skillfully woven. His haori was white. His haori-himo was fashioned from a precious metal, and it caught in the moonlight, glinting with each breath he inhaled. He looked handsome, she thought to herself.

Remembering her manners, she bowed politely. "Good evening, Lord Kuchiki."

He stood stock-still. Not a muscle moved. For a brief moment, she wondered if he had even heard or seen her, but his gaze was fixed on her. "Forgive my intrusion," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Where are you going?" he asked, deadpan.

She blinked. She was not sure whether he was genuinely interested or if he was reproaching her for leaving the Seireitei at such a late hour. It was obvious that she was not on official business for the Thirteen as she was dressed in pedestrian clothing. "Who said that I was leaving?" she managed, finally finding her voice.

He looked incredulous.

She smiled back her anxiety. "Lord Kuchiki, you are a very perceptive man."

Flattery got her nowhere.

She lowered her head and averted her gaze to the bridge's wooden boards beneath her feet. "I am looking for something."

"Lord Kogimi?"

Hisana's eyes widened, and an imperceptible look of relief passed over her face. "Yes, Lord Kogimi—have you heard anything about him?"

Byakuya took a few paces toward her, and he turned to the stream. "No. No one has."

Hisana's brow furrowed. "He has not returned to his home?" Mindlessly, she mimicked Byakuya's actions. She turned to the stream and rested her hands lightly against the coarse railing.

"No. His family sent a search party."

"Nothing?"

Byakuya gave her a sidelong glance.

"I will follow up with the Second tomorrow," she said softly—more to herself than to him.

"The Second?"

Her gaze flitted up, and she nodded. "The Second and Thirteenth are cooperating on this matter."

He looked uneasy about her revelation. "You are not concerned?"

She smiled at his question. Of course she was concerned about working with the Second given the circumstances, but she was not going to question, openly at least, her division's judgment on the issue. "I am optimistic."

He continued to study her in the moonlight. She could feel her skin heat under his gaze, and she repressed the urge to chatter nervously. For about a minute. "It is lovely tonight, no?"

He said not a word.

"…and it is the end of the Cherry Blossom Festival. Aren't you being missed?" That question elicited an eye-roll on his part. It was brief, but she caught it and giggled. She tried her best to stifle her giggle with the sleeve of her yukata, but it was futile.

He exhaled a deep breath and gripped the banister in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the thick of night. Silence ensued. She wondered what he was thinking, and she wondered if she had offended him.

"Will you walk with me?"

Hisana blinked, uncomprehending. "It would be an honor," she said almost reflexively. Her stomach dropped, and her breath hitched in her throat. She had no idea why she said that. She had no idea what he wanted. Part of her questioned whether she had hallucinated the inquiry.

He began forward a few paces, and she followed behind, respectfully.

"I asked you to walk _with_ me, not ten paces _behind_ me," he corrected.

"Apologies," she murmured, quickening her step to keep up with his long strides. She wanted to ask him where they were going, but she found the question gauche. She also doubted he would deign to respond to it. Instead, she kept pace with him. Her mind worked a mile a minute—calculating possibilities.

He was unarmed as was she, and they appeared to be nearing the marketplace. She doubted that he wanted to spar with her. The fact that they were approaching the marketplace concerned her, however. She wondered if anyone would catch them, and, if they did, what would they say or think? Would they even notice her? Byakuya was such a commanding force—it was entirely possible that she would be hidden by the sheer commotion his presence incited. She was not a noble woman. She was dressed in…

She glanced down at her fraying yukata. 'Oh, no!' Horror burned through her, sending painful pinpricks up and down her nervous system. No amount of smoothing the fabric down would improve it yet her hands mindlessly went to work.

Upon reaching the market, Byakuya stepped into the fray without a second thought. As he did, he took her hand in his. It took every fiber of her body to repress the urge to flee. Convincing herself (1) that no one saw his act because they were too absorbed in the festival and (2) that he taking her hand was only done out of a sense of practicality—the crowd was thick, and they could be separated—Hisana continued forward. Without fleeing.

"Lord Kuchiki!"

Terror ripped through Hisana at the sound of a young noblewoman's voice.

"Lord Kuchiki!"

Byakuya turned to the sound of his name. It was the noblewoman that he had dubbed Lady Kokiden days prior. She smiled brightly the moment she caught his eye. "It is so good to see you tonight. I sincerely hope that you are feeling better tonight after falling so ill yesterday."

Hisana's eyes widened to the size of half dollars, and her brows shot up. 'Ill?' She "sincerely" believed that he had lied to the dewy-eyed beauty standing before him.

Byakuya spoke nary a word, but she continued. "I was so concerned that I purchased you a gift." She reached into the breast of her kimono and handed him a small wrapped parcel.

Half-heartedly, he took the gift and glanced down at Hisana, who appeared too bemused for her own good. His response, however, ultimately betrayed Hisana. The lady had not even perceived Hisana until that moment, and, upon seeing Byakuya's hand against Hisana's, she seethed. Her brown eyes flashed anger, and she breathed a haughty breath. "Oh, I didn't even _notice _you," she announced in a forced sing-song cadence. "Who are you?"

Hisana could feel the woman judge and subsequently hate everything about her. The Lady's gaze started with Hisana's head and ended with her footwear. Her lips twisted in disgust.

Hisana stiffened under the woman's piercing stare. She could almost hear the woman's caustic inner dialogue: Her hair is ragged. Her face isn't fair. Her clothes are cheap—not inexpensive but _cheap_. She is _common_—a peasant.

"She is my consort for the evening," Byakuya pronounced in a low voice.

The Lady's complexion blanched. She looked flabbergasted, and she inhaled so sharply that Hisana heard a small cry at the announcement. "My apologies if my demeanor has been perceived in any way offensive."

Hisana smiled bitterly at the woman.

"Good evening," Byakuya murmured, and he turned on his heel, pulling Hisana along with him.

"I am sorry if I caused you any social disgrace," she began.

He looked down at her as if she had gone mad, and she grinned. As if her association could possibly tarnish his name. He held enough power that he would have to be thoroughly dishonored for the nobles to think poorly of his actions.

Carefully, he navigated her toward a certain someone. When she saw who it was he had been seeking, it all made sense. Byakuya had not lost his senses after all, she mused to herself.

He released her hand as they approached the small noblewoman. She stood with tear-stained cheeks, and she held a handkerchief pressed firmly against her lips. "Lady Kogimi, please, meet Hisana," he stated softly.

Hisana bowed politely. "Lady Kogimi, it is my pleasure."

Lady Kogimi's teary eyes gazed into Byakuya's face imploringly.

"Hisana has been assigned to locate your husband." It was a prevarication, but Hisana did not correct him.

"Yes, Lady Kogimi, I would very much like to resolve this matter."

The Lady smiled and threw her arms around Hisana. "Thank you," she sobbed into Hisana's shoulder.

Hisana eyed Byakuya as she stroked the woman's back. "Tell me _everything_."


	12. Falling

**Chapter 11: Falling**

"What else can we do?" Miyako folded her arms against her chest.

Kaien scowled at the question. He had no answer, but he was not going to concede the point. "We can suggest another member."

"The Second will just bump it back—like they did the rest."

He grimaced. Her logic was pitch perfect. They had offered up everyone but him. "I could do it."

Miyako shook her head. "They won't accept it and for good reason. It is a simple extraction—nothing that should merit a Vice Captain-level Shinigami. Their grounds will be justified." She paused before adding, "They argue that no one else can pass their strict security clearances." Her voice flattened as she parroted the Second's rationale. "It is just a simple extraction."

"Are we certain about that? That the mission is just a _simple extraction_?"

Miyako cocked her head to the side. She pressed her lips together, and her brows furrowed.

"See, you have your worries," he stated pointedly. Punctuating his displeasure, he rubbed his hand against the back of his neck.

"Worries about what?" Hisana asked, breezing into the room with a folder in hand.

Kaien and Miyako started at her sudden presence. Both looked like the cat that had just gulped down a canary. Hisana forced a smile, hoping that it would ease the thick tension. With an innocent wide-eyed look, she probed, "What is the matter?"

Kaien's left eye twitched, and he shook his head at Miyako. "I will not approve it."

"Approve what?" Hisana tried her best to appear innocuous.

"I will not approve it. You will need the Captain to sign off on this. I wash my hands of it," he said to Miyako before exiting the room. A chill followed in his wake.

Hisana tucked her chin down and inhaled a breath. Leveling her gaze at Miyako, she gave a knowing nod of her head. "I will do it," she said once she was sure that Kaien was far from earshot.

Miyako locked her jaws and sighed. "You heard—"

"Everything. Couldn't help it."

"Are you sure? Vice Captain Shiba is very perceptive about these matters. It could mean trouble."

Hisana smiled. "I am the only one with the requisite clearances, right?"

Miyako lifted a well-tweezed brow at the reply. "Not to sound brash, but that sounds like a bullshit reason."

Hisana's smile widened. "Someone has to do it. The Thirteenth is taking the lead on this one. I can do it. It is just a simple extraction, no?"

"Allegedly…"

"How long do I have to prepare?"

"The Second said that their reconnaissance team will be back for a briefing in two days' time. We could push it back by delaying paperwork another two days."

"Four days to prepare," Hisana stated.

"The extraction only requires one of the Thirteenth. Once you have ascertained Lord Kogimi's location, we will send a backup team."

"Does the Second approve of this?" Hisana asked, skeptical of the plan.

Miyako shook her head. "We aren't submitting it for their consideration. They will merely have to deal with it."

Hisana nodded her head. "Send me the briefing once you receive it, and I will sign off on it." She handed Miyako the folder that she had been holding. "It is Lady Kogimi's interview."

"How did you manage to get this?" Miyako asked, flipping the folder open. Carefully, she began to read the write-up.

"I have a powerful friend."

Miyako grinned, knowingly. "Well, tell your powerful friend, 'good work'."

Hisana bowed before exiting Miyako's office. "Four days," she said to herself.

. . . .

In her usual spot on the bridge, Hisana stared into the thick of the night, recounting her day. It had been a quiet one at the Thirteenth. She had gone through the motions of training her squad. Thoughts of the pending mission, however, had occupied her mind—breaking her concentration at every turn. Kaien had scarcely said two words, and he could barely look at her. Despite the awkwardness between her and her superior, she had filed the appropriate papers with the Second. The Second had approved her submission by the day's end. The assignment was hers now.

"Thank you," she said softly into the balmy wind that accompanied his presence. "I made these for you as a token of appreciation, Lord Kuchiki." Shyly, she handed him a bento wrapped in red cloth. "I pray you take it. You don't have to eat it, but it was the least I could do to repay you for all of your kindness." She averted her gaze downward.

His fingers lightly brushed against her hand as he took the parcel. Surprised, she looked up at him. "Thank you," she whispered. Moonbeams caught in her large eyes as she watched him through the shade. It was the first that she had actually seen of him that night. She had sensed his presence, and, embarrassed by her meager offering, she had extended her gift without properly acknowledging him. He was uncommonly handsome in the night's pale blue light. To her surprise, his face did not harden in disgust at her gift. He did appear somewhat confused by the sudden present. Seemingly reading his thoughts, she smiled and said, "I noticed you liked spicy food." Her voice was soft and gentle, and, secretly, she hoped that he had not heard her.

He tilted his head at her words, and his expression softened. If she had to venture a guess, she believed that he had come to see her. They had fallen into a strange unspoken pattern. They would meet on the bridge. Sometimes they spoke; sometimes they challenged each other; sometimes they stared wordlessly into the night. He did not go to the bridge every night, but neither did she.

Briefly, she wondered if he preferred her company to the noblewomen or if he was lonely. Perhaps both, she mused to herself. And, for an even briefer moment, she considered why she traveled to the bridge in the dead of the night. Did she prefer his company to her fellow squad members? Or, was she lonely, and he offered a quiet respite?

"Thank you, Hisana," he said softly.

She smiled. "The information from Lady Kogimi will prove beneficial for my assignment."

He blinked, unsure of whether he had accurately understood her meaning. Realization, however, was quick to seize him. "You will be carrying out the mission to find Lord Kogimi?" His voice sounded disbelieving.

Her smile weakened. It was bittersweet. "Yes. I am very happy that the Thirteenth has such faith in my abilities."

The lines of his countenance hardened. Careful to shield her from his expression of dismay, he turned to face the stream rushing below the bridge. Silence fell over them. Tense and heavy, the sudden stillness stifled conversation.

Hisana's smile faded, and she looked down. Part of her wanted to think that it was truly an ordinary mission. There was nothing to worry about. She had located and extracted many dissidents before. No problem. But there was something that perturbed her about this particular mission—something that seemed to perturb both Kaien and Byakuya. The Second, however, was not so conniving. They could have neutralized her despite recommendations to the contrary. They could have killed her surreptitiously during her many treks to Inuzuri. If they wanted her dead then she would be dead. They did not have to go through with the song and dance that was this mission.

Yet, both Kaien and Byakuya were very intelligent men, and neither one of them seemed very happy with the arrangement. Was there something she was not sensing? Was she trying too hard to be optimistic? Part of her, she could not deny, was suspicious of the Second's insistence that she be the one, personally, to see the mission completed.

"You need to get into shape," he said in a manner-of-fact tone. His gaze had drifted up as if he were planning something.

She lifted her head at the suddenness of his voice. She blinked, dumbfounded.

"How long until your mission?"

Her brow turned up, and she smiled. The sudden change in his demeanor had thoroughly amused her. Byakuya went from aloof noble to determined taskmaster in a split second. "I have four days to prepare."

He grimaced, "Such an ill portent."

A corner of her mouth curved up at his observation. Four—such an unlucky number; although, she had not pegged Byakuya Kuchiki as superstitious. "Indeed."

He glanced down at her; his eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "You need a strict training regimen."

"Yes," she said, nodding approvingly.

"…that will require close monitoring."

"Of course."

"…that must start as soon as possible."

"I see," she said.

"Tomorrow."

She blinked, and he was gone. Hisana stood nonplussed. "Did I miss something?" she asked herself. The enigmatic word, "tomorrow," rang in her head, but she was too stupid to know what, exactly, that entailed.

. . . .

Panting, Hisana lifted her Zanpakutō to defend against the next wave of Senbonzakura's attacks. Her movements slowed. She felt leaden as if weights had been strapped to each of her limbs. Exhaustion descended upon her. Every fiber of her being struggled to maintain composure.

Byakuya Kuchiki was relentless. His power far surpassed her own. Yet, despite his immense ability, he was a very patient teacher. When she managed to out-whit him, he praised her tactics. When she staved off his string of attacks, he would commend her on her performance. When she failed, he would repeat the maneuver again and again until she found a way to exploit his technique.

On day one, the training and pacing was brutal. The days of playful games of kido and tag were over. He had finally showed his hand, and he was far more powerful than she had initially anticipated. By the end of the night, she had nearly fainted, and, when she returned to her quarters, she had wrenched. Her body was useless for the day following.

Day two of training was by far the worst. Every fiber of her being ached—stiff from pain. She, however, soldiered through, applying his corrections to the best of her ability.

Day Three was easier, and she finally began to find her rhythm. She deflected his attacks with greater ease, and she managed an offensive that would have worked against a normal foe.

Then, on day four, they began by sparring. He unleashed a series of kido attacks that she easily deflected. The pace of their battle quickened. At great speeds, the two flitted through the velvety shade of nightfall in a strange combative dance. To an untrained eye, it was merely an artless chaos of movements. Harsh staccato beats immediately followed quick footwork. The dance, however, was organized chaos. Much thinking, calculating, and exertion was required.

In between counter-attacks, parries, and attacks, her mind drifted. She could not maintain focus. She had not been able to concentrate all day long. Anticipation and anxiety had worn her down mentally. At that moment, however, her mind began to analyze Byakuya. In a way, he let her in. He exposed to her his preferences and thought patterns. He taught her how to counter his favorite techniques. He helped her strategize. He taught her new skills and approaches. Byakuya was a giving man, and she wondered if anyone else knew that fact as well as she did.

Byakuya preferred fighting long distance. He preferred traps and ending a battle quickly and decidedly. Unlike some of the Shinigami, he did not like to play with his prey. Hisana also delighted in constructing traps and quick battles. Coming from the Second, sleights of hand, feigns, and diversions were well-honed tools. Byakuya, however, was _much_ better at pulling it all together.

Frustrated with her performance and tired, she quickly parried an attack from above. With heavy breaths, she looked up. Her resistance against his force wavered, and she fell to bent knee. Exhaustion had finally worn her down, but she still stared into his cold eyes. Fire burned deep within her, and she countered. Her blade, however, traveled through the air—nothing to stop its force. He had disappeared in a flash of an eye, taking her scabbard with him.

'Tag,' she mused. Intrigue, she felt a sudden burst of energy tame her exhaustion. She gave chase.

His flashstep, while superior to hers, was not impossible to best if she took shortcuts. She tried to flank him from the side, but he quickly veered off course. Before long, Hisana realized that she was in unfamiliar territory. They were still in Seireitei, but they were in a place that she had never seen. She quickly drew up a map of the city in her head. After mentally triangulating their position, it all became clear. He was taking her to his family manor.

Catching him, she struck. His lightning-fast reflexes, however, bested her. He caught her sword in her scabbard. With an upward stroke of his arm, he disarmed her. Hisana smiled at the maneuver. She had expected nothing less when he stole her sheath.

"You have lost your repose," he murmured, handing the sheathed sword back to her.

She lifted her chin at his observation. His words stung. It stung because he was correct. Fear tugged at the corners of her thoughts, and it slowly began to penetrate her mind.

Fear.

She hated the word. She hated the feeling more. Hisana, however, could not deny that she was indeed afraid of her fate.

'_The 78__th__… how convenient.'_ The words forced their way into the forefront of her mind's eye. She did not want to think of the coincidence. She did not want to mire herself in the endless speculation of why it had to be the 78th. It was nothing—she reassured herself. Mere coincidence.

Extricating herself from the wave of doubt, she frowned and stared down at the ground. It was moist, she noted to herself. The air was humid and thick and warm. Her attention darted up to her surroundings. She immediately smiled at her findings.

"A hot spring?" She only had meant to think the words, but there they were. Her voice was quiet but audible.

Byakuya stared down at her. A crack in his stony façade spread across his face. His slate grey eyes softened and darkened. The fiery glint in his gaze died, and he dipped his head toward hers. His lips parted as if to speak, but he quickly caught himself and stifled the words rising in his throat.

She would have to rely on her imagination to discern his unspoken meaning.

Reflexively, Hisana raised her head. She inhaled a deep breath; her chest rose. She closed her eyes the moment she felt the warmth of his mouth against her lips. She stopped breathing. Her body felt like it had caught fire. The spark began in her heart and quickly cascaded into every limb and fiber of her being. The feeling came in waves—her body flashed both hot and cold until every nerve throbbed in fierce synchrony.

Hisana had many liaisons as a female member of the Second. Some of her interactions were merely passing flirtations. Some of the relationships were part of her duty; her sensuality had proven an effective weapon. She had used her feminine wiles to glean information and to influence various men. Some of her dalliances, however, were consensual. Neither duty nor obligation had forced her to spend the night with Kaien. But none of her many thoughtless kisses (given for many thoughtless reasons) had provoked a sensation of _hunger_, and, at that moment, intense hunger flowed through her. She felt insatiable.

Stretching upward on her toes, she deepened the kiss. She placed her small hands against his firm chest to steady her wavering body. Every muscle in her body felt like it could betray her in an instant. Warningly, they twitched from overuse and stress.

He pulled her closer, and, instinctively, her fingers caught in the folds of his kimono. Byakuya's hands grasped her by the shoulders, and he held her tightly against him. At first, he was aggressive, consuming. His spiritual pressure spiked against hers, and she tried to match his intensity. Slowly, the intensity diminished, and he pulled away.

The cool and self-possessed heir to the Kuchiki clan stood in a state of disarray. His hands, however, continued to clasp her shoulders. A flicker of self-doubt crossed his face, and Hisana wondered if he was going to dismiss the kiss as another mistake. A mere lapse in judgment.

Before he could speak, she pulled him down into another kiss. She had no idea what came over her. Perhaps she did not want him to declare the kiss a mistake; it had devastated her the last time. Perhaps exhaustion had finally crept into the spaces of her brain, shooting her judgment to hell in the process. She was tired, and, with each passing moment, she could feel her body growing heavier. His nearness proved intoxicating—her reflexes slowed and her thoughts began to bleed into a dark nothingness. Primal feelings of _lust_ and _want_ vanquished the anxiety and fear that lingered in her heart. Feeling physically and emotionally spent, she relished the ability to forget.

Thoughtlessly, her fingers relaxed against his chest before slowly traveling down to his hakama-himo where they stopped. Her fingers stiffened in cold realization. It had felt so natural.

Feeling her hesitate, Byakuya broke the kiss.

Hisana stared up at him with wide entreating eyes. Mentally, she steeled herself, preparing for him to chastise her impropriety. His actions, however, surprised her. In one fluid movement, he swept her up. She was so small and delicate that he could easily balance her weight with one arm. Her breath hitched deep in her lungs, and she blushed. Catching his gaze, she could sense something wild lurking beneath his fortressed features.

A bolt of electricity seared down her spine, setting her entire body ablaze with anticipation.


	13. Smolder

**Chapter 12: Smolder**

The spring's chill stung the flesh. It was morning in Seireitei. The sky was an ominous shade of grey. Rain clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the sun and threatening to burst at any moment. Captain Ukitake stood to pull the outside doors closed. Even his white captain's robe could not protect him from the thick biting air.

Ready to turn on his heel, he started. He paused briefly in front of the door, and he lowered his head. A sense of foreboding pierced him. "The paperwork is on the desk. All of it. No details were left to chance." The good captain knew who hovered over the threshold to his room. He could feel his Vice Captain cross the floor to the desk.

"There are two sets of copies," Kaien noted coldly.

Ukitake faced Kaien and nodded. "Yes. One for Byakuya."

Bent over the desk, Kaien stopped cold and his brows furrowed. "What?"

Ukitake was not sure if Kaien sounded disgusted, confused, or agitated by the explanation. "Yes."

"Why?" Kaien looked incredulous. "Why would _he_ care?"

Ukitake bristled at Kaien's implication: Byakuya did not have a _right_ to care about the matter. For a moment, Ukitake considered the possibility that Kaien had no idea of Byakuya's interest in Hisana. He tilted his head as he observed his subordinate's distress. "I suppose he believes her to be a friend."

Kaien cocked a brow at the word _friend_. His whole countenance deflated at his captain's statement. His look begged an explanation or an apology for what he considered a bad joke.

Ukitake smiled politely. "The documents have all been signed and filed," he digressed, "For the moment, no more paper work is necessary."

Kaien scooped up the stack of papers and stared at Hisana's signature sprawled across the bottom of the page. The lines of his face hardened as he perused the paper work: His brow furrowed. His lips sloped into a frown, and his jaws clenched. An intense light radiated in his eyes. "The Fifth is involved?" his voice dropped a few octaves.

Ukitake paused before elaborating, unsure of whether Kaien had directed his inquiry to him. When Kaien leveled his gaze at his captain, Ukitake gave an obliging nod of his head. "Yes. The Fifth will be on the periphery collecting the affiliated rebels."

"The Thirteenth, Second, Fifth, and Kuchikis are involved in this matter?"

"The Thirteenth, Second, and Fifth, yes. The Kuchikis only indirectly."

Kaien's attention drifted back to the paperwork. "Four. Such an unfortunate omen," he said referentially. "Is there any way to delay this?"

Ukitake shook his head at the question. "It is her choice."

Kaien's eyes narrowed.

Ukitake looked at Kaien with an expression of unconditional positive regard. The captain's gaze was soft yet piercing. It was a deeply paternal look, and he looked at Kaien as if the Vice Captain was the sole object of his attention. "You must respect her choice—her autonomy. If this mission was beyond her then she would not be assigned. "

Kaien grimaced at the words. They resonated deeply. He knew that his subordinate was capable of the mission under ordinary circumstance; however, there was something off. Something felt deeply awry. Treachery was afoot; he was certain. "It feels like a trap," Kaien murmured.

"It is a routine extraction," Ukitake reassured.

Kaien bowed his head politely before taking his leave. Ukitake watched his Vice Captain turn the corner. Silently, he looked out the window across the room. The morning sun was beginning to peak through the clouds. Staring into the middle distance, he wondered if Byakuya would come early for tea.

Both Kaien and Byakuya felt their convictions acutely, and neither could take "no," for an answer.

. . . .

Hisana carefully stepped into the large bath. The water was scolding hot, and it took her a few minutes before she could comfortably relax. The bathhouse outside the First Division was eerily quiet. She had not seen a soul, which was incredibly unusual even for the early hour. Her solitariness, however, did not prove soothing. Her mind was a tortured ball of electrical sparks.

She had hoped that the morning ablution would cleanse body and soul.

Everything in her life was an utter mess—professionally and personally. She felt completely unprepared for her mission. Her mind—usually so focused and steely before an assignment—wandered aimlessly from one thought to the next. She considered her many modes of attack yet she never fully committed to a single plan of action. She felt overwhelmed by the possibilities. Possibilities that were trivial seemingly carried the weight ordinarily reserved for possibilities that could result in death. Her sudden indecision was a strange new aberration for her, and she found herself worrying over her inability to form a concrete plan.

'I am worrying about worrying,' she thought mordantly to herself. 'What the hell has happened to me?' Recognizing her problem, however, could not spurn her to focus. Her resolve had been so thoroughly broken that she could not piece it back together. 'This is so problematic…'

She had lost her heart. It was unknowable to her—a dark void. Worry, anxiety, fear, and indecision gripped her mind and obscured anything that did not feed the demanding emotions.

The realization elicited a shudder, and she shook her head. 'I am in scorching hot water, shivering like a child,' she observed wryly to herself. She looked down into the clear water. Steam rose, heating what little of her that was not submerged. The warming effect of the bath, however, had not managed to imbue her tense muscles. She held her body tautly as if at any moment a tiger could pounce on her, and her body needed to be prepared for flight.

The only tigers at the bathhouse were the tigers that her mind worked endlessly to conjure for the express purpose of keeping her on edge. Realizing that she was torturing herself for her own amusement, Hisana inhaled and exhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out,' she repeated in her head, hoping that the words would push the constant stream of worries from her brain.

It did not work. All it did was make her worry about her inability to relax. 'Come on, Hisana. Surely, you can do this. Breath you, idiot. You can do that? You must do this. You need a clear head before you leave the city.' Her inner dialogue quickly became pleading, and, exasperated, she gulped down a deep breath and held it. The air pierced her lungs, chilling her to the core. Reflexively, she shifted. The sensation of water swirling against her tired body quieted her.

Opening her eyes, she looked down to see the water's surface ripple around her. She observed her legs under the distorted lens. They were thin yet toned. Under her gaze, the muscles of her legs contracted and shifted under her pale skin. Well, _mostly_ pale skin.

Hisana's eyes widened as she took stock of her body. Reflexively, her hands began to search her legs. Dark purple flesh spanned portions of her inner thighs. The breath in her throat hitched. The memories of the night prior burn her skin. Small reminders of her impropriety decorated her body.

Her body heated, and, unthinking, her gaze drifted back to the bruise on her thigh. She touched the blemish, and she flushed at the memory. She ran her hand up her arm and closed her eyes. Silently, she recalled the sensation of his skin against hers. She had been desperate for his touch. So completely desperate. She had never experienced such a yearning, and she felt calm in his care. So completely calm. When she was with him, she could feel her uncertainty fall from her body and scatter on some errant breeze. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like she was his only concern—like she was the only thing occupying his thoughts. The world could burn down around them, and he would not flinch. His intelligent eyes would remain locked on her.

Her heart sank.

She was becoming prone to such romantic musings as of late. She was not a romantic woman. At least, she had never considered herself a romantic. She certainly had never been distracted by the intense feelings that the nobleman elicited. It was suffocating at times. At first, she had written the musings off as a side-effect of stress, but they persisted, growing in frequency with each passing day.

'I am an idiot,' she chastised herself. 'What are you doing to yourself?' She had to admit it was a good question. There was no way that she could maintain a relationship with Byakuya Kuchiki. She was certain that he would grow bored with her company. He seemed to tire easily of women. Whenever she spotted him in the marketplace, he was always escorting a different noblewoman. Then, there was the matter that she was no competition for the lovely and _suitable_ women that inhabited Seireitei. The noblewomen with their beautifully painted visages dressed in fine brilliantly dyed silks. Hisana smiled distantly upon recalling the sensation of silk against her arms. It was so long ago, but she still remembered the feeling—the feeling of completeness and bliss.

Now, she was fragmented, dirty, and humble. She wondered if that was what Byakuya saw when he looked at her. She frowned as she considered the possibility. His feelings were usually on lockdown, which, in her experience, meant that he felt things intensely. He had to chain his emotions for fear that they would end him.

Her frown faded at the observation. Indeed, she judged him to be a very passionate man, and she wanted to know more about his passions. Briefly, a twinge of sadness resonated in her heart. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

. . . .

Radiant sunlight pried his eyes open. Byakuya instinctively stretched an arm out to his side. His hand tensed the moment he felt the chill of the linens against his palm. He turned his head to confirm what his heart only suspected. She was gone. The only evidence that she was ever in his room was the ruffled sheets and a small indentation in the pillow next to him. He closed his eyes and fisted the loose fabric in his hand.

Left alone to his own thoughts, he inhaled a sharp dissatisfied breath. A strange longing seized him. He exhaled the breath trapped in his lungs, hoping the feeling would relent. It did not. His yearning only intensified with each heartbeat.

He pulled his tired body up. Thoughtlessly, he shrugged on a dark blue kimono. His bare skin barely registered the sensation of the cool cloth against it. He then crossed the tatami floor to a small writing desk positioned in front of a window. Idly, he pushed the window open, and stared out onto the gardens. He braced against the sting of the morning's chill. It was a bright morning. His eyes could see the pale fog ghosting over the green grass, but he did not process any of the brilliance. He was trapped deep by his thoughts, and he could not pull himself out of his inner torment.

When had it happened?

He had always been so careful. He was so censorious of those around him, especially the commoners. He was so discerning. He was so demanding and critical. He turned it over and over in his mind, but he could not deny the feeling. He had tried to deny it in the beginning.

His mind flashed to the night at the bar in Aka-Name. Drunken at the time, his gaze had shifted time and time again to her. She had been standing by the window, looking out into the velvety night. She was so intense, and he had admired that about her. He still admired her intensity. It was restrained, brimming just under the surface. He also admired her ability to read others with such ease. He could read his opponents on the battlefield well enough. Motivations in combat were simple—win. The means of achieving the goal were more logical and ordered. She, however, understood others outside of combat. She understood him, seemingly reading his thoughts despite his best efforts to conceal them. She had her faults, too. He was sure, but, at that moment, he could not think of one.

Feeling the bite of a cold wind, he shivered, and glanced down at the rustling papers that lined his desk. He quickly stacked them and placed them in a drawer. The sleeve of his kimono, however, caught on the handle. Freeing the fabric, he started upon descrying a bruise on his forearm. A corner of his mouth turned up. She had managed to land a blow the night prior. Reflexively, he pulled the sleeve down.

He quickly dressed, and, throwing the door to his room back, he was met by choir of whispers. Servants quickly scattered as he began down the corridor. He made out a few of his servants' stray remarks, and he repressed the urge to glower.

_A woman._

_Oh, yes a woman._

His manor was riotous about last night's sleeping arrangement. He, however, was not at all surprised that they knew. Anything he did in the Kuchiki manor was subjected to intense discussion and hand-wringing. The servants and his relatives afforded him no privacy because he was the heir apparent and the last remaining Kuchiki from Ginrei's line.

After the passing of his father, mother, and aunt, worry and hysteria consumed the clan. Thoughts turned singularly on securing the line. His grandfather, strong and venerable, was of an advanced age, and his vitality was quickly fading. It had been decided (by everyone in the family except for Byakuya) that Byakuya should marry before serving his family's division. All of his relatives were quite set on not becoming the next noble disaster. They wanted to make certain that what happened to the Shihoin clan did not happen to them. With heated, frantic words and gestures they spoke of Yoruichi's _unfortunate _departure and how it had brought _ruin_ to the clan.

Byakuya, however, was made to pay the price for his family's past misjudgments and, now, _other_ noble families' failures. His was summarily stifled by prying eyes and many silly and illogical opinions. If he so much as coughed at least twenty servants were sent scrambling for an elixir. If he did not stand up to his family's ridiculous machinations then no one else would. At best, his grandfather was largely oblivious. At worst, Byakuya wondered if his grandfather was complicit in the family's behavior. He had been denied his well-earned post as Vice Captain under Ginrei's command, but he had calculated the inevitability of that decision long before he had set foot in Aka-Name.

With regard to the subject of the current ruckus, he had tried to be discreet (which he thought he had been). Evidently, the thin shoji doors had betrayed him.

He wondered whether they knew which woman he had chosen. Judging by the hopeful and bright looks of some of the older servants, he assumed not. Hisana must have departed through the doors that led into the garden. The Second had trained her well enough to outsmart the manor's senseless busybodies.

Before he rounded the corner, the manor's steward stopped him. The steward was an elderly man who moved as slow as a sea turtle. He had wise pale blue eyes hidden under wiry grey brows. Byakuya's grandfather had handpicked the steward long before Byakuya's birth.

"Sir Byakuya," he said deferentially.

Byakuya stopped and lifted his chin.

"Lord Kuchiki requests your presence in the East Wing." The steward bowed deeply upon Byakuya's acknowledgment.

"Of course." Panic swept through him. He hoped that the staff's words had not reached his beloved grandfather's noble contemplation. He turned about-face.

A weary look etched into his features when he arrived in the East Wing. He stood at the threshold to Ginrei's study. The moment his grandfather acknowledged his presence, Byakuya politely kneeled behind the threshold, assuming proper seiza.

"Grandfather," he murmured in a strangled breath.

Ginrei studied Byakuya. He had detected the strain in his grandson's voice, and, for an instant, his brows knitted together. His features, however, were quick to assume a neutral look. "There are stirrings," he began, slowly and clearly pronouncing his words. Byakuya had a feeling that his grandfather was choosing his words with great deliberation. "There are stirrings," he began again, "that you have taken up with a woman. I am glad that you are taking your responsibilities seriously."

Byakuya's eyes deadened, and his head lifted at the pronouncement. He did not speak. He did not know the extent of his grandfather's knowledge. He was rather sure that no one knew that the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat was his inamorata. Except for perhaps the Captain of the Thirteenth. Byakuya bristled at the thought of Ukitake exposing him. The captain was quite gregarious. He was so approachable, and he did not know a stranger. Byakuya wondered if Ukitake knew not to broadcast his interest in Hisana to random inquirers. Likely, not.

Disentangling himself from his musing, Byakuya looked up at his honorable grandfather to find his piercing eyes trained on him. Ginrei looked as if he was anticipating a response to a question. Byakuya stared blankly at his grandfather. He had clearly not heard the question.

Ginrei observed his grandson, and he smirked. "Understandable. A boy in your condition must be preoccupied with many things."

'Condition?' That was a strange term. Byakuya wished that he had heard the question. Apparently, it was important.

"Which of the court ladies have you selected?" Ginrei repeated the question.

Byakuya's gaze trailed to the floor. His eyes widened as he wracked his brain for an answer. If he gave a name of a noblewoman, he was sure that he would be condemned to her in marriage. If he gave Hisana's name, his family would not abide such an arrangement. Nobles were forbidden to take peasants as consorts. If he did not answer then he was sure that his grandfather's current good will toward him would evaporate, and he would have to go back to the binders of noblewomen that contained photos and resumes. He had protested the farcical courtship ritual, insisting that the process for selecting a bride should not be the same process for choosing an employee. His family heard none of it.

"You have selected a court lady, correct?" His grandfather watched him with a serious look on his face.

"I do not feel at ease revealing her identity yet," he answered after great delay, carefully plucking the words and pruning the response.

"Very prudent," Ginrei praised him before returning to the work on his desk.

Byakuya bid a polite farewell, and he was off to the Thirteenth.

. . . .

Not bothering to look up from a file, Ukitake murmured a soft, "You just missed her." The good captain's suspicions had proven correct. "The tea will arrive shortly," he said, acknowledging Byakuya from across the room. "I am sure that you have already made the request, but, in case you have not, here is the sanitized file." Ukitake proffered the folder before finishing his signature on a form.

Byakuya glowered at the word "sanitized" as he took the folder. Surely enough, information had been redacted. It was no use. Hisana, too, had been woefully short on specifics.

"Don't make that face. Also, don't lose the file. The Second would have a stroke." Ukitake had not spared Byakuya a passing glance as he made the statements.

"When did she leave?"

"A few moments before you arrived." Ukitake looked up. His brows knitted over inquisitive eyes. He was confused as to why Byakuya was so _suddenly_ interested in a member of his division, but, when he looked up, the noble had seemingly evaporated into thin air. "How perplexing."

. . . .

Hisana walked to the gates of Seireitei. Her steps became smaller and more lumbering as she entered the marketplace. Not even the smells, noise, and brightly colored gewgaws could penetrate the mental noise that consumed her thoughts. Mindlessly, she wound her way through the market. She had to repress the urge to pilfer a brightly colored scarf to cover her head. She always paid the vendors back in "donations." But, as a member of the Second, she was prone to covering her tracks by making impromptu modifications to her attire. As a member of the Thirteenth, however, such diversions were unnecessary. In fact, she felt rather odd about reaching the gate dressed in the standard Shinigami uniform. No modifications. No civilian clothing. She was announcing her status loud and clear on this mission.

"Our wills and fates do so contrary run."

She stopped dead. Mid-lurch. She knew that voice anywhere. It sounded smooth and glossy. If it could have materialized, it would have assumed the form of a snake—no doubt. "Vice Captain Ichimaru," she said, turning to acknowledge the man. She gave a shallow bow out of some strange sense of obligation. "Your observation is duly noted," she added.

"The Fifth will be about today," he mentioned off-handedly. Or rather, she assumed it was off-handed. She could never tell with Gin. His façade was nearly as impenetrable as Byakuya's.

"Vice Captain Shiba has kept me abreast of the situation," she responded mechanically.

He bent down and petted her head. "Good luck."

While Hisana had realized that the act belied a motive, she had not been quick enough to discern which motive he possessed. She felt his hand catch near the collar of her Shihakushō. Immediately, she reached up to catch him, but he was too quick.

"Ah, isn't this interesting?" he said, bringing the device to his face.

Hisana's eyes hardened. "It is so I can coordinate with the units when I locate the target."

"Is it, now? It seems your Vice Captain has thought of everything."

"Indeed," she reached up for communication device.

He dropped it into her hand. "Good luck."

Hisana got the distinct impression that he _wanted _to say, "Good luck. _You_ will need it." But, he did not finish it before he politely left her side. For a moment, she inspected the device, and she sighed. Kaien had given it to her as a failsafe—in case she needed him for any reason. He had been quite adamant.

Clipping the device onto her shitagi, she inhaled a deep breath. Muscle memory forced her to check her back before leaving. It was customary among the Second to scan the area before leaving to ensure that no one was overly interested. Then, she was off.

It was a long trek to the 78th. As she passed the districts, it never ceased to amuse her how pronounced the decay became. It was like peeling back the layers of an onion to find the center rotten. Each district peeled back a useful layer of the civility. By the 78th there was little to recommend Soul Society. Harsh conditions left the land barren. The dirt was loose and fine like ash. Water was scarce, requiring much effort to find and haul back to the community. The people, at worst, were brutal and cruel, and, at best, they were scrappy and cunning. There was no way to flourish under those conditions. The souls either died, fled, or made it to the Academy. She knew the South 78th well. The West, however, was unfamiliar territory, and she had to rely on the Second's reconnaissance.

Any worry that she would have trouble locating Kogimi vanished the moment she reached the small town specified in the Second's brief. The spiritual pressure was intense. She knew that the Lord possessed some strength, but she had not prepared for that level of intensity. Swiftly, she landed on a hardy tree branch. Placing a hand against the coarse bark, she steadied herself and surveyed the town.

"Oh my," she murmured to herself. The village had been demolished. Blood streaked the streets and pooled in the gutters. The bodies, however, were gone.

Instantly, she searched for the Fifth's team that was to be set up on the periphery. _Nothing_.

"Oh no."

. . . .

Byakuya returned to his manor. Unceremoniously, he took to his writing desk where he plopped down the "sanitized" file. The folder made a small "thud" when it hit the wood. His studies for the day were neatly arranged across the top of the desk. He glanced down at the books and binders. Carelessly, he flung back the cover to a random book. A history of something… He did not make it past the title page before he had the Thirteenth's file in his hand.

Carefully, he read each document. When he reached the communications logs, he scanned them to find that the Thirteenth had submitted several of their seated and unseated officers for the mission. Each time the officer was rejected. Hisana was the only officer accepted for the mission. His brows knitted together as he read the logs over a second time. There was something awry with the way the rejections were logged. He turned the page to find the communication logs from the Fifth. The rejections were noted on those logs as well. They were identical.

'Peculiar. Why would the Fifth need this information?'

Byakuya quickly penned a request for additional details, and he nested the missive in a small envelop. Swiftly, he stood and crossed the floor to the door. Outside the door stood his personal manservant. "Send this request to Jin at the Second. It is a pressing matter." The servant bowed

Within a few hours, he received a response. It was as he suspected: The Second had not rejected any of the Thirteenth's officers. The only officer for which they received an application was Hisana.

It was so curious.

If the Second was not targeting Hisana then who or what was?

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading!

**Sky1011** : Thank you so much for reviewing! I tried to keep the language as vague as possible to allow for reader interpretation. "Spending the night" could mean the night at the festival and tea later, or it could mean she slept with him. The source paragraph mentions both minor romantic inclinations (e.g., flirting, kissing) and more serious sexual gestures (e.g., for her work).

**Darklover: **Thank you so much for the review! I really struggled with how to characterize the relationship. My inclination was emotional to physical. But, I think emotional is hard to write for Byakuya at this point in the story. (Perhaps I have written myself into a corner?) I hope there is a little more emotional unpackaging in the aftermath of their encounter in this chapter.

Again, thanks everyone for reading!


	14. Synchrony

**Chapter 13: Synchrony **

The pressure was forceful. A stale wind tugged at her robes and played in her hair. With narrowed eyes, she tried to discern from where the pressure emanated. It was not an average soul. It felt corrupted.

Hisana flew forward. Landing in the middle of the street, she straightened. Her descent had been soundless, but her reiatsu spiked from the exertion. 'No matter,' she thought to herself. She wanted to lure the entity out of its hiding place. She wanted it to target her—not her men assembled on the periphery.

Stillness.

There was something in the air. The smell of decay wafted toward her. She furrowed her brow. She hated waiting when she knew something horrible was approaching. Her wait, however, was brief.

Out of the destruction, lumbering bodies rose. Five men locked onto her. They were dressed in a standard Shihakushō with the Fifth's badge wrapped around their arms. Their movements were slow and stiff.

"They are dead," she observed. Ascertaining the cause of their motion, she murmured an incantation. Blinding light blotted out her vision for a moment. The fallen soldiers fell one last time. Upon impact, dust quickly billowed across the street.

"Clever, girl." The voice sounded like steel rubbing against steel.

Hisana's breath hitched, and her hand gripped the hilt of her Zanpakutō. The creature—a hollow—loomed over the destruction and the few remaining buildings. It stood erect on massive brownish-grey horse-like legs. Its pale grey torso was similar to that of a man. It had two long muscular arms that ended in two large hands. The hollow wore the traditional white mask. Its eyes were dark holes, and long sharp teeth formed its mouth.

Her lips twisted in disgust as she studied the creature. It was strong, and it displayed some intelligence. It had brought the dead to life by fastening thin wires around the Shinigami's limbs, manipulating them as a puppet master manipulates a marionette. She eased her grip on her Zanpakutō. Uncertainty churned in her stomach. She wanted it to make the first few moves so she could observe its ability and determine its weaknesses.

"You look very delicious," it growled. It lifted a massive leg, and, as it sent the foot down, portions of the ground flew upward.

Feeling the earth tremble like waves under her feet, Hisana maintained her balance. Her eyes locked on the hollow; they burned with a fierce determination. "What did you do with Lord Kogimi?" she demanded.

"He is with me like the others." Slowly, the hollow bent down and opened its mouth. A long pliable sword-like tongue flicked out and over the dead members of the Fifth. Slowly, it molested the Shinigami as if the hollow was savoring a taste. In an instant, however, the tongue seized each man's body in rapid succession, bringing the bodies to its gaping mouth. It hungrily consumed man and Zanpakutō.

Hisana glowered in disgust. "You killed Lord Kogimi?"

The hollow straightened, and, cocking its head to the side, it observed her through its deep chasm-like eyes. "His death was _transformative_."

Her eyes widened. Lord Kogimi had transformed into the monster before her? But how? As questions streamed into her mind, she absently dodged the creature's half-hearted swipe at her.

"You are quick, Shinigami." It hissed the observation through gnashing teeth.

Quick thinking spared her from another strike aimed in her direction. Instinctively, she fired out a kido attack. It was a binding attack. A golden circle ensnared the hollow. The hollow, however, shattered the spell with ease. As it did so, its body morphed. Large blades of every sort grew out of the hollow's flesh.

"Is that where your victims' Zanpakutō go?" she asked.

The hollow clenched its claws into fists and roared. The blades dispersed in every direction. Hisana took off at blinding speed. She managed to avoid most of the projectiles, but her mind faltered, and, for a split second, her muscles locked in panic. The hollow landed a breathtaking blow. Its massive clawed hand sent her careening into a nearby cement wall. Upon impact, portions of the wall tumbled down on her, pelting her head and shoulders.

Slumped against the rapidly disintegrating fortification, Hisana quickly regained consciousness. Her eyes snapped open, but her vision and lungs failed her. The world was black and cold. The collision had expelled every molecule of air from her chest. For several terror-stricken moments, she gasped open-mouthed into the darkness. _She could not move air._

Slowly, the vision in her left eye returned. Blearily, she could see the yellows and reds of the town in abstract. When she caught a breath, she adroitly rolled behind the wall's remnants.

"I can see you," the hollow taunted. As its heavy steps approached her, she could feel the ground roll under her hands and knees. She bit her lip and forced her body forward, crawling on her belly toward a small wall. A wave of nausea crashed over her stomach, and, briefly, she fought the urge to wrench. 'Get up, Hisana,' she chanted to herself.

The sight in her left eye improved. It was not perfect. The edges of objects were still feathery. Her right eye, however, stung and refused to completely open. Swollen, it took concentrated effort to pry her eyelids apart. The field of vision was only a small slit. The blood cascading down the right side of her face, however, obscured what little sight her right eye retained.

This status check only took a matter of seconds. Hisana managed to evade yet another swing of the hollow's arms. Her speed was severely impaired, and her escape behind a large pile of debris was a narrow one.

"Did I leave a mark on your pretty face?" it mocked at her back.

Her mouth filled with blood and tooth fragments. Facing the monster, she turned her head and spit out the contents of her mouth. "I've survived better," she murmured, maintaining eye contact with the hollow.

It gave a clamorous laugh. "Perhaps, but what will your _friend _think?"

Feeling the monster's words vibrate through her, Hisana grimaced. "What happened to Lord Kogimi?"

The hollow stood stiff, palms faced skyward, and it roared. The swords of fallen soldiers threatened to burst forth. Howling again, the beast unleashed another round of projectiles. Hisana flashstepped toward a small dilapidated shed. She was within throwing distance when her speed faltered. Cold, biting steel tore through her right leg, pinning it to the ground.

Crashing downward, she screamed in pain. Her body shook violently from shock. Her stomach felt like it was somersaulting in her belly, and bile, thick and acerbic, began to rise in her throat. With shaky hands, she gripped the hilt of the sword holding her leg to the ground. Trembling, she removed the blade with a sharp yank. Again, she screamed out in mortal pain. Her throat stung at the intensity of the sound emanating from her chest.

She tossed the sword to her side and fumbled to stand. Equilibrium faltered, and she collapsed. Hisana grasped the communication device dangling from her collar. "Hisana to Thirteenth. Abort mission. I repeat abort mission." Nothing. The device was broken. She was alone with no way to protect her squad.

"You can't die now," the hollow whined, "I was promised noble blood."

Hisana's body tensed. Her muscles shook from fatigue and shock. "What?" she hissed; her voice throaty from the ferocity of her screams. For a moment, she stood shell-shocked. Friend? Noble blood? What had the beast been promised? Who had promised it noble blood? Then, it all came crashing down on her in stunning clarity. She was the bait to a clever trap. But, whose trap? And, which noble? Kaien had noble blood coursing through his veins. Kaien's fierce loyalty to his division proved an easy weakness. Byakuya was another option, but he would not save her. How would Byakuya possibly know where she was? Why would he possibly care? Even if she was a weakness, no one knew of the relationship. Right?

Slowly, the beast bent. Its bladed tongue lapped at a pool of her blood. It appeared satisfied, and the tongue snapped forward at a blazing speed. Amaterasu's fire quickly deflected the attack.

The hollowfied Kogimi jerked backward in response. His tongue retracted into his mouth, and he growled, "Such delicious blood from a peasant. I will make sure to eat you last. I will savor your essence." The hollow smiled at her distress, and it slowly slinked toward her. He was playing with her—his prey. Delighting in her suffering.

She stumbled to her feet. Fear gripped her as she considered the possibility of death. Reflexively, her grasp on her Zanpakutō tightened. She held the sword forward, directing the blade's point at the hollow's face. She flicked her wrist, and the sword's metal glinted in the afternoon sun. Plunging the blade into the ground in front of the hollow, she unsealed her Zanpakutō. "Divine Intervention," she murmured. A blast of fire tore into the ground. Before reaching the hollow, the flame diverged. Five fiery fingers curved around the beast, forming a circle. Once the circle was complete, the wall of fire descended on the hollow.

A thick smoke blanketed the scene, obscuring the hollow from Hisana and Hisana from the hollow. Between coughing and panting, Hisana stabilized her weight against her Zanpakutō. In sharp piercing synchrony, her body throbbed. Tendrils of electric heat trailed up and down her spine. The endorphins could not fight back the searing pain that emanated from her wounded right leg. Fluid collected under the membrane of her right eyelids effectively swelling the upper and lower lids together in a crusty seal. Blood continued to flow in dark rivulets down her right cheek—the gash at her hairline was not going to clot anytime soon.

Shifting her weight, Hisana's muscles burned at the change in posture. She knew the hollow remained. She could feel its spiritual pressure intensify against her own. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, and she yanked her sword out of the ground. Feeling the weight of the blade in her hand, she absently spun the sword upward, sending another wave of fire in the direction of offending spiritual pressure.

To Hisana's horror, the beast staggered forward, and it gave a piercing cry. On its knees and claws, it continued to shriek. "Your flames burn with such intensity, but they are no match, Peasant." A thin force field protected the hollow against her blade's kido attacks. She would need to pierce the hollow's veil to take it down.

"Peasant?" she echoed, "Is that what you called Meiying?" The beast raised its head as if she had uttered a malevolent incantation. Meiying. It was the trigger word. Hisana smiled a bloody smile at the reaction. "Lady Kogimi said that your affair with Meiying had been discovered, and Meiying had been forced from her home into the woods of Rukongai. You were devastated. So devastated that you left your house every night to visit her. But, she had been poisoned by all of the hostility. She finally refused you. She died. Alone."

The hollow stood. For as massive as the beast was, it moved with surprising dexterity. Its claws molded into large fleshy sickles. With blinding speed, the monster's left bladed arm shot forward.

Hisana, however, collapsed. Gripping Amaterasu tightly in her hand, she kneeled ready to face the attack full-force. She positioned the sword in front of her with its hilt up and its blade to the ground. She bent her head, and, as she had anticipated, the blade pierced her from on high. It tore through her throat, and she spluttered on her blood. Under her breath, she choked out a phrase.

"What did you say, Peasant?" the hollow growled or _meant_ to growl. Amaterasu's second release, however, interrupted the question. The sword disintegrated in a plume of thick inky smoke.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath, feeling her vitality return to her. She opened her left eye to see the blood pouring from her neck quickly evaporate into the same thick inky smoke. A small grin curved her lips.

The hollow's hand remained lodged in Hisana's throat. She could feel the beast tense as realization hit. It was too late. Before the beast could pull its hand from her throat, the smoke escaping her neck had seized the appendage.

A sharp scream pierced the dusk. The smoke penetrated the hollow's hand. Opening the wound further, the beast's hand shriveled before turning to ash. The smoke, however, continued to imbue the hollow.

Hisana stood, temporarily restored by her Zanpakutō. Breathing deep calm breaths, she lifted her right arm and turned her hand palm up. She felt completely numb. No pain. No anger. No fear. Both her eyes opened widely, and she watched her smoke squelch the hollow's spiritual pressure. She expressed no emotion as she observed its struggle. Her face was pale and indifferent, and her eyes deadened. A cruel grin tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she stiffened her fingers upward. Her smoke responded to her gesture. It swiftly descended on the hollow. Thick and black, it suffocated the beast until it disintegrated from the inside out.

Instinctively, Hisana's right hand tensed. The moment she felt the coarse stitching of her hilt against the palm of her hand, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. Once the Zanpakutō was sealed, Hisana's vitality faded, and she came crashing down to the cold earth below.

. . . .

_Beep_.

Hisana stirred. Part of her wanted desperately to awaken. Darkness, however, sunk her conscious mind. She felt like she was falling—a constant state of freefalling. At first, her heart felt as if it had jumped into her throat where it hammered out a staccato beat.

_Beep_.

She inhaled a ragged breath. Tense, she fisted her hands. Her knuckles turned white against the pressure. A moan escaped her lips.

_Beep_

The sound of a mechanical hiss invaded her thoughts. It sang through the black void that filled the spaces of her mind. While in a state of constant free-fall, the sensation of hope caught in her chest. She hoped that the falling sensation would cease. She hoped she was still alive. She hoped that she was not dispersing into the ether.

Some unknown God must have taken pity on her because her first wish was granted. The free-fall ended abruptly when she hit back-first into a deep pool of water. Shards of pain pierced her upon impact. The waves cut her; blood—dark and red—drifted in the water. Weightless, she sank into the dark blue water.

_Beep_.

Coldness surrounded her. Her forehead, especially, felt numbed by the water's chill. Opening her eyes, she was amazed to find the water lit by soft green effulgence. Sea creatures of the unimaginable variety wafted by her. Strangest of all, however, was that she could breathe.

_Beep_.

'I can breathe?' she mused. 'I must be dreaming.' She reached her hand out in front of her. Gracefully, she reached for the green light. It was too far away. So far away.

_Beep._

Hisana's eye flew open. With bleary vision, she managed to make out her surroundings before her eyelids drooped closed. The incessant beeping noise and the mechanical hiss came from hospital equipment. Fate had spared her, and some kind soul had taken her to the Fourth's infirmary. Comfort filled her. It was over, and she could take a breath. She sank back into dark unconscious.

Over the days that passed, Hisana struggled to awaken. She could always tell that she was nearing the surface of her conscious mind when she heard the rhythmic beeping of the machines next to her. When she breached the inky waters of her deep slumber, she sustained wakefulness for only a few moments before her mind went back to black. Her waking periods, however, increased in duration and frequency.

She saw many familiar faces. She was sure of whether the faces existed outside of her coma. Her mind blurred the waking and sleeping worlds together so completely that she had trouble discerning which was which.

When she sank far enough into slumber, she entered her inner world. Amaterasu manifested. She was a radiant sight garbed in scarlet. Hisana rarely communicated with her Zanpakutō using words. Instead, the two walked well-beaten paths in the forest. A constant autumn had settled over her inner world. Brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges colored the world—the same colors of fire.

'My Zanpakutō must be nearby,' Hisana thought to herself in a lucid moment. The hum of machines signaled her ascent into consciousness. Peeling her eyes open, she turned her head. Her body felt so heavy and slow that the simple act of moving her eyes felt like a laborious task.

"Miss Hisana!" A soft feminine voice filled her head. Slowly, she looked up to find a nurse standing over her. "Can you speak yet?"

Hisana stared up at the woman. She comprehended the words yet she could not muster the energy to open her mouth. Instead, she observed the woman with a vacant look in her bright blue eyes.

Gently, the woman caressed her forehead. "It would be amazing if you could communicate with me," she murmured. For an instant, she looked up pensively. An irresistible idea seized her, and she smiled. "Blink twice if you understand me."

Hisana blinked twice.

"Oh my!" the girl squeaked. Over joyed, she grabbed Hisana's hand, beaming. "Now, squeeze my hand if you can."

Hisana's grip was weak but perceptible. Again, the nurse squeaked with happiness. "Oh, this is so wonderful. Stay with me, Miss Hisana." She checked the time. "Your best time is 10 minutes. I think we can do better than that." Hisana's gaze softened. She managed to stay awake for 25 minutes before fading.

Within a few days, she regained control of her body. Her muscles were still stiff and weak from lying docile on a bed, but she managed to sit up. Her awareness also increased. She was shocked to realize that a florist seemingly took up shop in her room. Flowers of all varieties and colors lined the room.

While she found the flowers comforting, her heart sank every time she took note of them. Sweet condolences and well wishes served as reminders of her failure. She had not completed the mission soundly; she had nearly perished. For that reason, she remained reluctant to read the cards tucked neatly into the flowers.

"You are awake!"

Hisana had been staring into a folder of documents. She did not know where they came from, but, when she woke up, the file laid in a chair beside the bed. Bored, she reached out and began reading the contents. At first, it took some mental effort to comprehend the characters on the page. It did not take long, however, before she was reading the sentences at a good clip.

Kaien breezed into her room with a cool confidence. He walked like a man who had been born on a battlefield. His stride was strong, and his presence captured her attention. His movements were so fluid and self-possessed—like a wolf stalking prey in the snowfall.

She smiled and nodded her head politely. While her words still failed her, she understood the words of others. This made her disability all the more frustrating.

"How are you feeling?"

She nodded.

He smiled brightly at her. "Good! We were so worried about you. All of the seated officers have been checking up on you, but you were always," his voice faded before he could complete the sentence.

She nodded her head understandingly.

"Can you talk?"

Hisana's smile dimmed, and she shook her head. Absently, she touched her throat and swallowed. Stiff bandages wrapped around her neck. She _wanted_ to speak. The words poured into her head: _Thank you. Please, don't worry about me. I am doing much better. I appreciate your concern._ Her thoughts buzzed with all sorts of things to say. She just could not force them out of her mouth.

Pushing back a branch of trailing flowers so that he could better view her, Kaien looked at the offending arrangement. "Lots of flowers here," he teased.

Her lips split into a wide smile at his observation. She raised her brows and shrugged.

"So many flowers," he murmured, surveying the flora. "Do you know this many people?" he joked. "I don't think I know _that many_ people, and I'm _much_ older than you."

She squeezed her eyes shut and laughed. Her laugh sounded like soft bells ringing on a distant breeze.

"Ah, she can make noise," he said smiling. His intelligent eyes turned to her. "She also has taken _my_ paperwork."

Following his line of sight, she glanced down to find the file teetering on her lap. She blushed, eyeing him playfully. She handed him the documents. Gently, he took it from her, and his eyes softened, "Get some rest. You can worry about paperwork when you are feeling better," he said.

In tranquil silence, the two watched each other. Hisana wished that she could express her sincere gratitude at his kindness. She also wanted to ask him who or what had rescued her. None of that was possible. All she could do was watch him. After a few wordless minutes, he stood. He looked at a loss for what to do next. Remembering his manners, he bowed politely before moving toward the door. Hisana bowed her head in kind. He paused at the threshold of the room and glanced over his shoulder before he departed.

She smiled her farewell.

The rest of her waking hours were spent reading various magazines that the Fourth kept on hand. She did not last for long, however. An hour after Kaien left, she had drifted back to sleep. When she woke again, the pale blue light of the moon poured in through her hospital window. Dark black shadows sprawled across the walls and floor.

She turned her head to face the wall beside her. Her mind felt sluggish, and her vision was hazy. Empty. Everything felt so empty. Her stomach was empty—even hunger dared not to enter her. Her thoughts were empty. She could not focus on a single thing. She just stared vacuously into the dark of night. She existed somewhere in the space between reality and dreams. Likely, she would have remained in that space for hours; however, a stirring just beyond her periphery interrupted her solemn state.

Her door creaked back on its hinges. Light cut through the thick shadows. Motionlessly, she watched as a small yellow rectangle climbed the walls. Her eyes were open wide. Even her wounded right eye opened—the swelling had remitted in the past days. A thin film, however, continued to cloud her vision as it healed.

Someone had entered her room.

At first, she paid her guest no attention. She had grown accustomed to the constant procession of nurses and orderlies that streamed in and out of her room. They would prod, probe, and take her vitals. When she felt particularly exhausted and desolate, she pretended that she was sleeping so she could avoid their incessant questions.

The person lingering at her bedside, however, was not a staff member. Even on a low simmer, she knew that feeling from a mile away. Her suspicions, however, were quickly confirmed when she felt his hand against hers.

His skin was warm, and his hold was steady. Tenderly, his fingers closed over hers. Feeling his gentle caress, her heart stammered in her chest. She could feel her pulse throb in her neck and sound in her ears. Her body heated and her cheeks flushed a bright shade of red.

He remained benighted to the effect he had on her. Black shadows obscured her countenance, and she continued to face the opposite wall. Despite her many shields, she felt exposed, and, defensively, her reiatsu spiked as a feeling of vulnerability gripped her.

He shifted in response. She could feel the space between them slowly evaporate as he leaned forward. Slowly, she turned her head to face him. Her gaze drifted up, and their eyes locked. Praying that he was not an illusion, she squeezed his hand.

He was there.

It was not a dream. She could hear the hiss of the machines. She could hear the rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. She could feel her hand sink into the warmth of his hand.

Her throat stung. Her voice cracked. The words, however, were unmistakable: "Lord Byakuya."

His expression—usually so guarded—softened into a look of relief.

She stared up at him through her thick lashes, and a soft smile thinned her lips. "Thank you," she managed in a strangled breath.

He gave a small shake of his head as if he was willing her to be still. His gaze, however, did not relent. It only deepened. A quiet tension filled the room. Words, unspoken, lingered over them. The sound of voices would have been too intrusive—too vulgar. The sentiments would have been too restrictive.

She could _feel_ the answer to an unasked question break over her. He had been her savior. He had been the noble that the hollow sought. In her hazy thoughts, it made perfect sense.

She closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she committed her conclusions to memory. They would be necessary for another day—for another investigation. At that moment, however, it was futile. She opened her eyes and smiled inwardly at his lingering look. She missed those eyes.

. . . .

Summer was in full swing when the Fourth released her from the confines of the infirmary. Dressed in a pale pink yukata with a repeating floral pattern, she stepped out of the Fourth's domain. The air was thick and hot. She had barely made it a kilometer before the thin fabric of the yukata began to cling to damp body.

Upon entering the market, she plucked a cheap folding fan from a sales bin. She flicked the fan open. Paying the design no attention, she began cooling herself as she neared the checkout. She tossed a few coins on the counter, and, while waiting for the cashier to give her change, she glimpsed the ugly orange octopus printed on the cypress. Her lips twisted at the observation. Stubborn in her decision, she quickly fluttered it in front of her face and hoped that no one would notice.

Collecting her change, she turned to see the pretty noblewoman from the festival standing a few paces from her. A cold chill numbed Hisana's muscles upon meeting the woman's gaze. The noble lifted her head and shot Hisana a contemptuous stare.

"Such an _interesting_ aesthetic you have." The woman's voice sounded rich and vibrant. If Hisana had not heeded the look of disgust creasing her face, she would have thought the comment a compliment.

Hisana smiled nervously. "Thank you," she responded politely, ignoring the disapproving undertone. She flicked the fan closed and bowed. When she straightened, she realized that the woman remained. The lines of her noble face contorted into a dark look.

Hisana met the woman's gaze. A sudden violent urge surged through her. Hisana's wide-eyed stare faded into a heated glare. "Send my regards to Lord Byakuya," she murmured.

The woman gaped at her in disdain.

Hisana mustered a knowing smile before turning on her heel.

The walk to the Thirteenth had her panting. She had lost a great deal of stamina during her convalescence. Feeling sticky with sweat, she peeled open the door to her office. Empty. None of the other officers were on paperwork duty. Quietly, she took to her desk. It was shockingly bare. A few files had been stacked and set to the side.

She opened the folders. Absently, she removed the inkstone and inkstick from inside her desk. She stood and fetched some water for the inkstone. When she returned to her desk, she began filling out her report. She had several drafts—never completely satisfied with the wording of any of them. Part of her wanted to expose as much as she could. Another more pragmatic part of her wanted to follow the traditional form letter. It was a hollow; therefore, it could not be trusted. It had said that someone had promised a noble. Who had promised such a thing? Had there ever been a promise? She had her suspicions, but they were unsubstantiated. She needed evidence, but would that be prudent? If there was something or someone malevolent lurking around the corner should _she_ pursue it? Had she not done enough? Followed the letter of her job requirement and no further?

She sighed. Of course, she would not leave the matter unsettled. It was not in her nature. But, she had to ensure that there was _something_ to be exposed before she sounded the proverbial alarm.

"You have been staring at the parchment for nearly an hour."

Hisana started violently. "Lady Miyako," she murmured, placing a hand against her chest.

Miyako pulled the door behind her shut. Which, at the time, Hisana found the action intensely odd. The officers always kept their doors open. The Thirteenth was famous for its open door policy.

Miyako crossed the floor and sat in front of Hisana's desk. She smiled and nodded her head. "How are you feeling?" Miyako's face was warm and inviting.

"Better," Hisana said. Her smile belied the residual pain that continued to plague her body.

Miyako's gaze drifted to the floor. Her brows knitted together, and her lips sloped, giving her a look of unsettled contemplation. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but it took some time before she could find the words. "You know that if Vice Captain Shiba found you here that you would never hear the end of it," she murmured sweetly.

Hisana tilted her head at Miyako's inflection. The Third Seat did not look at her as she spoke, and the observation sounded forced as if Miyako was trying to distract herself. "What is the matter?"

Miyako raised her chin and inhaled a deep breath. "You have caused quite the commotion."

Hisana blinked. Confused. "Oh?" She had been isolated from the world outside her hospital room. While she entertained visitors during her time at the Fourth, no one said anything that would distress her. Everyone had been incredibly considerate and kind.

Miyako looked concerned. "Yes. There are stirrings among the nobility." Hisana flushed. Her bright pink cheeks betrayed her, and Miyako nodded in response, "So I take it that some of the rumors are true?"

Hisana's eyes widened and she shook her head. "I don't understand. What rumors?"

Miyako smiled gently in an attempt to soften the blow. "I do not want to distress you, but I think it is better if you are prepared for what is being said."

Hisana set her brush down, pushed her files to side, and balled her hands in the fabric of her lap. Miyako was right. Miyako was a noble, herself; she was in the best position to apprise Hisana of the situation.

"From my understanding of what happened, you fell in battle, bested by a Gillian."

Hisana's brows shot up. "What?" That was not the case at all. She had defeated Lord Kogimi's hollowfied form, and she fell shortly after her Zanpakutō bested him. If there had been any Gillian-level opponents then they happened upon her _unconscious_ body.

"So that is untrue," Miyako said to herself. "What happened in the West 78th?"

Hisana quietly described her mission. The details of her battle came flooding into her mind with stunning clarity—as if it had happened merely hours ago. She made sure to omit any information that required further corroboration as she reported the events to Miyako.

Miyako nodded, soaking up the information. "I see," she sighed, "do you know what happened afterward?"

Hisana shook her head. "I woke up at the Fourth."

Miyako hesitated for a moment before continuing. "It is said that you were taken to the Fourth on the request of the Kuchiki clan."

Hisana nodded.

"You do not look surprised by that," Miyako observed.

Hisana gave an imperceptible shake of her head. "No."

Miyako continued, "This caused quite a scene among the nobility. As you may already know, the Kuchiki clan is arranging a marriage for Sir Byakuya. The process is an ordeal, and tensions are running high among the candidates." Hisana's jaw slackened at the news. Miyako forced a conciliatory smile. "You did not know about this."

Hisana inhaled a breath. Her throat trembled, and she repressed the urge to shiver. She did not know why she felt so disturbed by the news. He was a noble. Nobles married other nobles. It was natural.

"Now all the single noblewomen are prone to silly musings and obsessions. At least, more so now than _usual_. Any little thing—true or false—will provoke them."

"They are upset because of some rumor that his family made a request regarding my care?" Hisana furrowed her brow. Her first thought was that sounded like the silliest rumor she had ever heard. She highly doubted that the Kuchiki _family_ cared two damns about her well-being. But, she supposed that was the point. The family _would not care_. Byakuya—the person with the final say on who he married—cared. Potentially.

"They are upset because Sir Byakuya _saved_ you."

Hisana lifted her head, shocked by the boldness of the words. "Did he?"

Miyako tucked her chin toward her neck. "He slayed several Gillians to save you."

"What?"

"He was injured when he returned to Seireitei. His report is filed with the division if you would like to read it."

Hisana shuddered.

Miyako blinked back the sudden quietness that fell between them. "I did not mean to distress you, but you should know that Lady Kokiden has designs on him."

"Lady—?"

"She was his escort at the festival," Miyako interrupted, "Actually, she looks a lot like you."

Hisana flashed on the noblewoman from the marketplace. She grimaced. "I suppose Lady Kokiden is formidable?"

"Indeed. Her family is very respected. The Kuchikis would be very happy to acquire their patronage. She is also very vindictive. It would be wise to placate her."

Hisana tilted her head at Miyako's advice. Lady Kokiden likely had a very low opinion of her indeed especially after that afternoon.

"I could write an introduction for you, and you could write her a letter explaining that your relationship with Sir Byakuya is purely business." Miyako counseled calmly.

"That would be wise," Hisana paused, "under normal circumstances. I am afraid that I have offended her beyond my loose affiliation with Sir Byakuya."

"As I assumed. She is an infuriating woman."

The two sat quietly contemplating the next move when the office door drew back. "Vice Captain," Miyako greeted, quickly standing.

Hisana moved to stand, but a sharp look halted her efforts. "Good afternoon, Vice Captain Shiba."

"You should be _resting_," he chastised.

Hisana smiled. "It is only paperwork."

He shook his head before turning his attention to Miyako. "The squad has been sent off?"

She nodded, "They have made it to the checkpoint. All is quiet on the western front."

Hisana picked up her brush. Her thoughts buzzed with amorphous mental noise and concerns. What was she to do about Lady Kokiden? Anything? What about the mission? As she suspected, it was Byakuya who rescued her. But, was he _the_ promised noble? How would have anyone known that he would have saved her? They were quite discreet when they met, and their casual encounters followed no discernible pattern.

The sound of the slats of her fan against wood broke through her thoughts.

She jumped in her seat, and glanced up to find an impatient Kaien. He had been trying to get her attention for a few minutes, but she had successfully blocked his voice from her thoughts. "Vice Captain," she responded, "my apologies." She quickly surveyed the room to find that Miyako had gone.

"When do you think that you will be well enough to begin training again?" As he asked the question, he mindlessly began to toy with her fan.

Intrigued, she watched him handle the folding fan as if it was a weapon. It was so natural to him. "I could begin tomorrow," she added after a long pause.

He gave her an incredulous stare.

"Slowly, of course," she added.

His brows shot up. "I won't take it easy on you just because you almost died."

She wondered if he was teasing her or if he was being earnest. Perhaps both. She nodded. "Understood."

He handed her the folding fan. "Octopi are lucky," he murmured.

She smiled at his observation. "I had no idea."

"You were lucky."

She nodded. _Very._


	15. Chains

**Chapter 14: Chains**

Byakuya felt unsettled. Restlessly, his thoughts wandered. He had lost all focus. Staring out onto the garden did not prove soothing. Calligraphy did not calm him. Even intense physical training did not dampen the fire that burned deep in the pit of his stomach. He had gone to the family physician for a cure. The diagnosis, however, was underwhelming: Byakuya was perfectly healthy.

Sound in body but not in mind.

He longed for the company of the forbidden one. Her intensity, her thoughts, her silence, her heat—he wanted to capture everything about her. He wanted to _possess_ her.

He could sense the walls of his family closing around him after saving her in the West 78th. Harsh whispers filled the halls of his house and the mouths of his relatives. He knew they had learned of her name and rank, and they watched him. They were careful to monitor him, sending servants with him everywhere. An entourage escorted him when he was not with one of the _chosen ones_—women that his family handpicked to escort him to various functions.

As of late, his family seemed insistent that he take Lady Kokiden _everywhere_. He submitted, hoping that his resignation would build enough good will so that they would give him breathing room. He wondered, briefly, what he would do with the breathing room. The answer was so obvious that he could not bear to think it.

He _missed_ her.

He had not seen her since she had been discharged from the hospital. He had managed to steal time to visit her at night. When she began to regain her strength, she would eagerly receive him. She spoke to him about anything. She listened to every word he uttered, hanging on each syllable as if it was his last. Even when stillness fell over them, it seemed perfect. He enjoyed her company, her thoughts, her advice, her silence.

He missed her _passionately_.

"Sir Byakuya, Lord Kuchiki requests your presence in the East Wing."

Byakuya did not acknowledge the footman. He stood, shrugging on a haori, and crossed the manor to take his weekly tea with his grandfather. When he entered his grandfather's room, he paused at the sight of a large binder atop of the small table that held the tea. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Not even his teatimes were immune from the insufferable machinations of his relatives.

Ginrei acknowledged Byakuya before turning to the binder. His wizened face looked grim as he examined the papers. "This is not a punishment."

Byakuya sat seiza. He was certain that anytime the phrase, "this is not a punishment," was uttered a punishment surely followed. He frowned into his teacup. "I see," he murmured.

"I am informed that you are smitten with Lady Kokiden."

"I am no such thing," he stated firmly.

Ginrei's brows rose at the crisp sound of his grandson's reply. "Well, you are taken with someone obviously."

Byakuya frowned.

"You look miserable. Either you suffered a soul-crushing defeat or you have found a woman."

Byakuya's stony façade cracked at the observation; he smiled. He found the statement amusing. It revealed a great deal regarding his grandfather's views on both combat and love.

"And you would not smile like that if you disagreed with my assessment."

Byakuya's smile widened.

"So who is the woman?"

"It is not Lady Kokiden." Byakuya punctuated his disdain for her with a frown. To be wed to her for any length of time would drive him mad. He was convinced.

"I did not ask to you name the women you find detestable. There is not enough time in the day."

Byakuya snorted a sigh as he carefully scrutinized his grandfather's countenance for any traces of ill will. He did not detect signs of malevolence. No trap appeared to be set.

Ginrei grew impatient at his grandson's reticence. "Go on, boy."

Byakuya took a careful sip of the tea. Collecting his thoughts, he finally opened his mouth. "It cannot be."

Ginrei bristled at the pronouncement. "What does that mean?"

"She is of common birth."

Reflexively, Ginrei lifted his chin. As he descried his grandson, a remote look crossed his face. "I see." After a pause infused with much meaning, he continued, "Give Lady Kokiden another chance. It will pass."

Byakuya's body prickled at his grandfather's advice.

Observing the pained expression writing its way across his grandson's face, Ginrei's eyes softened. "Those of noble birth shall not marry those of common birth. Do you know why this rule exists?"

Byakuya had long suspected _noblewomen_.

"A long time ago, your aunt married a man of low class. He was a strong warrior, but he did not have the proper foundations set for the power that such a title bestowed upon him. It ended tragically."

"Koga Kuchiki," Byakuya murmured. He had heard the story countless times as child. Koga was a stain on his family name. His affiliation with the Kuchiki name proved so disagreeable that his family had used their influence to exclude him from the annuals of history. "He would have presented a problem to Soul Society regardless."

Ginrei smiled at his grandson's stubborn astuteness. "He would not have been _our_ problem," he chided. "The point, however, is a valid one. Without the proper foundations, it is reckless to offer a member of the lower class such power. With limited exceptions, we are immune from the rule of law that governs the unenlightened."

Byakuya frowned at the reasoning.

"It will pass," Ginrei assured coldly.

Byakuya, however, was not so certain.

. . . .

Hisana stood on the top of a large building. She looked down on Inuzuri. Her gaze piercing as she scrutinized the citizenry below. The mass of souls looked like a singular breathing, living organism. Tired withered souls wandered to and fro in the summer heat. A pang of guilt tore through her heart as she continued to search the crowd.

She had to find her beloved sister. She had to protect her sister. She had so many things to tell her sister and only her sister. Her searches, however, often proved fruitless.

Duty called her back to Seireitei. She had searched all night. When the sun streaked the sky, she made her way back to the Thirteenth's barracks to clean herself and change into her uniform.

She was exhausted from her searches. Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Her vision blurred. The physical ailments, however, would not stay her. She had missed so much time while she was bedridden at the Fourth.

When she clocked into the Thirteenth, she immediately began working with a squad of men. They trained for a few hours before breaking. On her break, she crossed the training area to her office where a small white envelope set in the center of her desk greeted her. She tilted her head at the offending letter before picking it up. Balancing the missive between her thumb and pointer fingers, she examined it carefully.

"It is from the Captain," Miyako informed Hisana from across the room.

Hisana's brows pulled together. "What?"

Miyako gave a knowing nod of her head. "Read the letter."

Hisana's eyes greedily took the entire message in all at once. She must have read each character three times. Captain Ukitake invited her to tea. That was not so strange. He invited all of his officers to tea when he was feeling well. If it was not so strange, however, why had she read the letter three times? Why had she scrutinized each character for hidden messages?

"Tea." Miyako beamed brightly. "How kind!"

Hisana blinked. Why did Miyako know or care? Why was she so happy?

Hisana sighed at her misplaced anxiety. Why was she suddenly so distracted and irascible?

. . . .

Hours before Ukitake penned the letter to Hisana, he faced a rather pitiable sight—Byakuya Kuchiki. The good captain had long assumed that tea was merely the means whereby the young noble could achieve his true end—to catch glimpses of Hisana through the open door.

They were _supposed _to be discussing Byakuya's involvement in the mission that took place in the West 78th. That discussion, however, was going nowhere. Ukitake would ask a question. Byakuya, in turn, would answer partially if at all. The time between question and answer was so profound that Ukitake often forgot what it was that he even asked. Heaven forbid that he ask which question it was that Byakuya deigned to answer. Eternities could pass in the meantime.

"What exactly prompted you to go to the West 78th in the first place?" Ukitake managed to ask the singular question that burned in his mind since he learned of Byakuya's involvement. He had saved it for the end, hoping that by then Byakuya would have grown tired of staring at his officer. It had been nearly a full hour.

It was futile.

The noble was distracted—caught in the throes of some unfathomable romance. Ukitake meditated on the fact that he could not fully empathize with Byakuya's condition. While Ukitake had been in love a time or two, he was a peaceful man. By virtue of his serene temperament, the sensation of love never proved so violent.

Byakuya, on the other hand, felt things acutely. This trait had taxed Captain Kuchiki—he spent considerable effort thinking of ways to cure his grandson of it. Apparently, the solutions had not completely taken because the young Kuchiki looked positively _tortured. _He watched her every move with an ardent look.

Ukitake sighed and shook his head. It was difficult to be upset by the noble's display. Watching Byakuya, he could not resist the playful smile that tugged at his lips. Then, it came to him—an inescapable idea. It was so obvious. He did not know why he had not thought of it before.

He would pen the note after his tea.

. . . .

It was nighttime in Seireitei. The sky was clear and full of stars. The air was thick, balmy and perfumed with the smell of cooked meats and vegetables. Exhaustion sank into every sinew and bone in her body as she stood on the covered bridge. Her frequent companion never came. He never came anymore.

A sense of mourning washed over her in his absence. She tried to deny it. She tried to convince herself that his absence did not sting. The prickle of pain was something else—a splinter in her finger, residual pain from her wounds, tired muscles, the ache in her heart for her sister. It was not because she missed his presence on the bridge.

Laid bare under the pale moonlight—raw from a hard day at her division and her endless search—she admitted that she missed him. She longed for the distraction of his words. She yearned to feel her stomach drop when he caught her in one of her ambitious traps. She craved his stare. He could see through her barriers and feigns with such ease. No one else could.

But, he never came.

She last saw him at the hospital. He came to see her on the night before she was discharged. He sat with her. He seemed nervous that night. He fidgeted in his seat. He did not say much, and his attention fluttered like a tethered butterfly. She had wanted to ask him what was on his mind then. She had not asked, but she could tell that he wanted to explain. He never explained.

'Will I ever see him again?'

'I see him all the time,' she mused after asking the question to herself. She had a tragic way of bumping into him while running errands in Seireitei. He was always escorting an aristocratic woman. Usually, Lady Kokiden had his arm and demanded his attention, but she had seen him with other women. All of them were beautiful, well dressed, well mannered, and moneyed. She wondered if he saw her in passing? She fancied that she had caught his eye on several occasions. He had stared at her with an unshakable look. His face was always guarded, but his eyes were not. She wondered what he was trying to tell her with his gaze.

She then wondered if she would ever see him in solitude again. She had so many questions to ask him: How did he know to save her? How did he find out where she would be? Why did he care?

Her heart sank, and she felt a tight knot form in her stomach. That was it. She had finally deduced why he had been so flustered that day in the hospital. Perhaps, he had meant to sever their relationship. It was a mere fling, and the fling had run its course.

'It is over,' she thought sadly to herself.

She crossed the covered bridge and glanced skyward. Starry formations lit the firmament. Its beauty, however, diminished due to her dissatisfaction. She was angry at her stupid heart. It had betrayed her.

Across the way, in the brightly lit marketplace, Byakuya stood surrounded both his and Lady Kokiden's details. So much security for so little reason. Leaving the Kuchiki grounds had become a chore.

She was talking about something. He had no idea what it was, but she seemed very animated about whatever it was. Her words were quick and pointed. Her hands waved violently as she directed servants to do her bidding.

He only viewed her in abstract. Choosing, instead, to occupy his mind with more interesting thoughts—like the beauty of a nearby kimono. It was a deep violet with an intricate hand painting that depicted the story of parted lovers. While the kimono was purple, the lining was a pale blue; the combination was reminiscent of wisteria.

His gaze lingered on the kimono for a few beats. His interest in the garment became noticeable. "Sir Kuchiki, would you like this for your lady friend?" His footman asked the question. He glanced over at the young man. He had said "lady friend"—not Lady Kokiden. For a moment, Byakuya paused to consider the implications.

Perceiving his master's contemplation, the footman lifted his head and offered a knowing smile. "She would look fair in it with her pale complexion and _short_ hair."

Byakuya's expression softened. Reflexively, he glanced over at Lady Kokiden. Her servants had swept her shoulder-length locks into an intricate design. Her hair was not short. Hisana's hair was short. Perhaps his footman was more perceptive than he originally considered.

He then considered whether the footman was a spy for his family. If he indicated a preference for Hisana over Lady Kokiden, would his family learn of this? What would they do in retaliation?

Byakuya's face hardened as he studied the footman, looking for signs of untrustworthiness. He was a young man—far younger than his grandfather's steward was. He wondered briefly if the man was ambitious. Ambition may be the staying point. If the man played his cards just right he could assume the rank of majordomo, but to do so he would have to _earn_ Byakuya's trust and respect. Byakuya would be the head of his family in time. Exposing him to his family would only secure Byakuya's contempt.

"I _hate _it," Lady Kokiden murmured, drawing to Byakuya's side. Examining the kimono, she tapped her lips with her pointer finger. "I just _cannot abide_ it. It sends the wrong message," she said in an affected voice. "Just _cannot_."

Byakuya gave her a sidelong stare. She was such a careless woman, fluttering from one thing to the next without a second thought. He seethed.

The moment she left his side, he turned to his footman. Instantly, the footman stepped forward with a keen look on his face. "Have the kimono sent to my _lady friend _with a note expressing my sincerest apologies and praying for her forgiveness."

"What about an obi? Or…" The man was several steps ahead of Byakuya, demonstrating his eagerness to serve his master.

"Of course," Byakuya murmured, "the finest." A weary look drew his features as he turned to face Lady Kokiden.

The footman looked at his master sympathetically. "Yes, sir," he said quietly to Byakuya's back. He quickly secured the items, and he rushed to the Thirteenth. He stood outside the door, trying to articulate why he had come. As he stupidly tried to find the magical words, he felt a familiar presence draw to his side.

She held her badge up, and smiled politely at the guard.

"Miss Hisana!" the footman exclaimed.

She halted mid-step and turned to the man. Instantly, she recognized the uniform and Kuchiki crest. "I am sorry," she murmured, lowering her head, "do I know you?"

"No," he said shaking his head, "but I have a gift."

She observed him. The poor man was holding a few large packaged in his arms. "For our Captain? Follow me," she said, waving the footman into the division.

"No," the footman said trailing behind her quick steps.

Hisana turned. Her large eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Oh? The Vice Captain, then?"

He paused at the absurdity of her question. The feud between the Kuchikis and Shibas was _legendary._ Then, it hit him. She was not leading him to the Captain's or Vice Captain's quarters. She had determined his intention long before he had determined hers.

She was protecting his master from publicity.

In the pale shade, she took a winding route to her lodging. Certain that they were alone and away from prying eyes, she quickly allowed him entrance into her quarters. "What is the matter?" she asked, clearly shaken.

"Nothing," the footman stated. He gently placed the packages down. "Everything is quite alright. Sir Kuchiki prays for your forgiveness."

"What?" She looked incredulous.

The footman was quick to shake his head. "Let me show you."

Hisana appeared worried. Her brows pulled over her troubled blue eyes. She stepped back and folded her arms against her chest.

He looked back at her. His eyes begged that she leave and return. Seemingly comprehending him, she bowed her head, and nervously crossed the threshold to her room. She glanced behind her before stepping into the darkness.

When she returned from her frantic stroll around the division, the footman had disappeared. In his absence was a fine silk kimono stationed on a kimono stand. She gasped, cupping her mouth. It was quite remarkable, and she felt incredibly grateful, but she felt wrong keeping it. His generosity was too much.

Staring deeply at the silk robe, she tilted her head. It was like looking at artwork. The painting was unmistakable. It was the story of parted lovers. The color—purple—was lugubriously appropriate since it was the color of unyielding love. Even the blue underlining was painfully deliberate. The colors, purple and blue, evoked the mental image of wisteria, which symbolized deep reverence.

Her heart broke.

Feeling her eyes sting from the tears threatening to burst forward, she blinked. Moisture collected in her lashes. What was she to do? She could not return the gift for fear that it would expose his affections to his family. But, how could she ever repay his kindness?

. . . .

Tortured by questions, Hisana's sleep had proven restless. She roused in a feverish state. Her body was slick with perspiration. The morning's air was hot and thick. 'It is too early to be this hot,' she grunted to herself, peeling her skin from the futon. When she sat up she spied the kimono.

She grimaced. She had hoped that it was a dream, and that she had never received such a fine gift. She stared into the garment before finally breaking down. She ran a gentle finger over the fabric. It felt luxurious. It was too beautiful for her.

Withdrawing from her feelings of self-doubt, she quickly dressed into her uniform. She had to make it to tea with her captain, and, at the rate she was going, she would be late. Hisana quickly flash-stepped to her captain's office.

She burst into the room. Shock ripped through her. Her heart seized in her chest, and her muscled locked in cold tension.

Byakuya Kuchiki turned to face her. He had been staring onto the training ground, but his expression of boredom faded into a look of astonishment when he saw her. His breath caught in his chest, and his lips parted.

The ever punctual Ukitake was nowhere to be found.

It was just them. Both stood still watching the other. Neither daring to move.

It felt like an illusion. Hisana was sure that if she spoke then the spell would end. Byakuya seemed so close yet so far away. The physical distance was small, but psychologically he seemed leagues away. For the moment, however, she was perfectly happy with physical proximity.

Similarly, Byakuya refused to move a muscle for fear that she would disappear. He had not expected to see her. In fact, he had almost rejected Ukitake's invitation—having shared tea with the captain only a day prior. But, his yearning to see her, even from afar, proved too tempting. Now that she was within grasping distance, he was thunderstruck. She looked so beautiful and fragile.

"Lord Byakuya," she said in a breathless voice, "I am so happy to see you."

"Miss Hisana," he murmured.

Their eyes locked, and the outside world seemingly dimmed around them. "You look well," she said softly. She took a step forward, feeling as if he was pulling her closer.

Byakuya took a step forward. "Yes," he whispered thoughtlessly.

Hisana tilted her head to the side. Tension blanketed the room, exacerbating the summer's thick heat. She could hardly keep her thoughts together. She had so many things to say to him. She had so many questions, but all she could do was stare deeply into his eyes. She was certain that if she averted her gaze that she would lose all sense and topple to the ground. "The gift," she began.

"Don't," he interrupted. His voice was low and languid.

Her chest rose in a deep breath. She felt so heady. So heady and warm and contented and so full. She felt so many things at once. It was almost too much to bear. She opened her lips to speak, but her thoughts quickly scattered the moment she felt him grasp her arm and pull her into an embrace.

She clung to him, and she trembled. She had wanted to see him so badly. She had wanted to tell him that she missed him, and she had so many questions. Important questions. Trifling questions. All her quivering lips could manage was a simple: "Why?"

He looked down at her, and, breaking from the embrace, he led her to where the tea was set. He sat her down on one side of the table, and he assumed a position in front of her. His eyes were soft yet probing. "I have something to tell you."

"I have something to tell you," she said. So enraptured by his gaze, she leaned forward. She had never been so enamored in her life. She could only think of and perceive _him_.

"The Second—the Second was not behind any of it."

"I was not the target," she murmured.

"The logs—the Second never rejected anyone. The excuse that only you could be assigned because of clearances was fabricated."

"A noble was the target. I was merely bait."

"I don't know who is behind it," they both said in unison. Until that point, the two of them had been talking past one another. Their voices overlapped as they spoke. Yet, they both understood the other well.

"How did you know where to find me?" she asked, shivering in anticipation.

"I requested the paperwork from the Fifth. They turned over a clean file."

Hisana looked shocked. "What?" she asked, not understanding.

"My family. We keep the records in central storage for all of the divisions. It is not that unusual…" his voice trailed as he observed her concerned expression.

"I worry that you were the target, Sir Byakuya."

He shook his head. "No." He seemed resolute in his belief that she had been the sought after one.

Hisana took a sip of tea. Her hands shook, her heart trembled, and her skin flushed. She felt so overwhelmed by everything. She felt as if her body could not contain her feelings. She felt as if her emotions might burst forth at any moment.

She drained her cup. The warm green tea on her tongue did nothing to simmer the flame that burned within. For a moment, she wondered if there was any sake from the World of the Living nearby. Captain Kyōraku was always giving away sake to her captain. She gave a cursory glance around the room. It was desperate really.

Byakuya watched her closely. Her gaze faltered, and he wondered why. She was searching the room, and, absently, he followed her gaze. "Is…" he began, but his voice broke off the moment she turned her attention to him.

"My apologies," she murmured. "I was…" She could not finish the sentence. She felt embarrassed to be so shaken. "Thank you for everything."

He raised his head. A tranquil silence fell over them. Both relished the simple pleasure of taking tea near one another. It did not take long, however, before they fell into their usual rhythm.

"Would you join me this week for the summer festival?" he asked suddenly during a discussion on the Second's decision to renovate the barracks to include heated floors.

She smiled sweetly at him. Silently, she wondered if it was prudent, but, before her inner pragmatism reared its ugly head, she accepted. "Of course."

Byakuya watched her intently as if it took him a few moments to comprehend her response. He was about to reply when the door to the room flew back. A panting Thirteenth squad member stood outside the door. He looked shocked to find Hisana and Byakuya sitting alone in the captain's office.

"Miss Hisana," he said, staring at Byakuya, still not comprehending what was happening, "the Vice Captain requests your presence." His eyes remained glued on the nobleman.

Hisana nodded her head, "He must have finished his meeting early," she said quietly to herself. "Sir Byakuya, please, excuse me." She smiled politely. Before she could stand, he quickly took to his feet and helped her up. His hands—usually so warm and steady—were strangely cold and light against hers.

Upon reaching the threshold to the office, she felt the breeze of the door as Byakuya drew it back. Byakuya let her step ahead of him. Continuing to hold her hand, he gazed down at her. He looked at her as if she were some fragile piece that needed protecting.

Numbed by happiness, she smiled up at him.

* * *

**AN:** This will likely be the last update for a while. Thanks to everyone who reads! Thanks to everyone who reviews!

**Darklover:** Thanks for pointing out the mistake. Yes, Miyako is the Third. I corrected my mental lapse. As for action scenes and injuries-they are pain to write. The injuries mentioned in the last chapter are a combination of research (mostly on comas) and poetic license.

**Sky1011:** I edited Chapter 12 (or 13 if using the ffnet numbering) to elaborate more on the points you brought. Thanks so much for reading!


	16. Control

**Chapter 15: Control**

Hisana sat quietly in the Fourth. She squeezed her eyelids shut and inhale a ragged breath. Her left arm throbbed; she had mangled it during a hollow extermination in the World of the Living, but none of her men was injured. That was the important part. She sat still as a member of the Fourth worked on her. It did not take long to restore the use of her arm.

"It will take a few more days before it is fully healed. But, it should give you no problems now." The man said. He gave her a comforting smile. "Take some of these pills," he said casually tossing a container to her, "they should fight any infection."

Hisana nodded her head. Upon leaving the Fourth, she wound her way back to her division. When she reached the office, she was shocked to find her Vice Captain staring out an open window. She only saw his back, but she knew it was Kaien. His hair was careless, and only he wore careless hair well.

He continued to stare out the window for a few more moments.

"Good afternoon, Vice Captain Shiba," she murmured softly.

He turned slowly, and he folded his arms against his chest. A rosy tint colored his cheeks—exertion and sun had stained them. The smell of fresh grass and dirt clung to him. "The summer festival starts tomorrow." He looked at her with bright mischievous eyes.

Hisana nodded politely. "Yes, Vice Captain. It does."

"I signed you up to perform a demonstration."

Her jaw went slack. "What?" she murmured.

"Dancing. It is a dancing demonstration. You used to take dance lessons with Matsumoto."

Hisana's brows rose at the observation. "I still do on occasion." It was her one guilty pleasure. She had loved to dance ever since she was a child. Some of the finest teachers had instructed her then, and she refused to abandon the one art that she loved dearly.

"Matsumoto mentioned that they needed more dancers. I signed you up."

Hisana felt the muscles in her neck tighten. A cold breath stopped in her chest, and she pressed her lips together. She had promised to escort Byakuya to the festival.

"You look miserable. You've looked miserable for the last month," he murmured politely. "I thought this would cheer you up."

Hisana forced a smile. "Vice Captain, you are so very kind to me. I would love to dance in the festival."

"Good. It is tomorrow. Matsumoto said that you knew the steps."

Hisana nodded her head. "Yes."

"You performed last year," he said distantly as if he was recalling a memory.

She felt a pink heat creep across her face. "Yes, I did."

"You wore a bamboo print."

The burn in her cheeks intensified. "Yes. The kimono and fans were on loan from the Women's Shinigami Association."

Kaien cocked his head to the side, considering her words. "You were very good."

She averted her gaze to the floor. She tried her best to look demure and _not embarrassed_. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

Digressing, Kaien asked, "How was the mission?"

Instinctively, she drew her injured arm into her sleeve. "The hollow was neutralized."

Kaien caught her movement. "Your arm injured?"

She glanced up at him. "The Fourth assures me that it will heal in time. None of the men was injured. It was nothing."

His features tightened into a look of concern. "Good." He lifted his head as if to intimate that he had other matters to which to attend. He bowed his farewell, and she bowed in reply. Turning on his heel, he crossed the room to the door and paused. "Be vigilant when you take your trips to Rukongai," he said before passing out of sight.

Hisana's mouth opened at the request. For a moment, she wondered what had prompted it.

. . . .

"OK, girls," Rangiku's voice sang through the air.

Hisana cooled herself with the decorative folding fan. She glanced around the room to find that all the other women looked as tired and sweaty as she felt. The heat was oppressive. Her body was slick, and her muscles ached against the humid air. Rangiku, however, seemed totally immune from the weather's effects. She breezed into the room with a sensuous air about her. If possible, the heat made her more appealing. She glistened radiantly.

"I brought some _observers_," she said clasping her hands in front of her face. She was so proud of herself. A few of the women groaned in protest. "Now, be respectful—they are members of the 11th."

The groans morphed into loud cries. None of the hot and irritated women was having it. "Why, Rangiku?" some faceless Shinigami whined, "they are brutes! It will be lost on them!"

Hisana was inclined to agree. Rangiku was pushing it. The rehearsal had already gone over by three hours. She still had loose ends to tie up at her division. The festival was only a day away. 'What is Rangiku thinking?' she wondered to herself.

"They were the only ones still at their division!" Rangiku countered. "Plus, we need to practice before an audience. Even a bad one. Think of it as the _worst case scenario._"

Hisana flicked her fan in front of her face, annoyed. 'The 11th, huh?' She turned the dance over in her mind. 'What does the 11th like?' The answer was obvious: The men of the 11th liked a good fight. Hisana meditated on the thought.

It was going to be a disaster…

Carefully, the women danced. Trying their hardest to appear small and delicate, they moved temptingly across the floor. Boredom, however, consumed the men. Many of them sat sprawled out on the floor, looking half-asleep.

Hisana moved forward with two other females. They performed several tricks with their fans. This piqued the men's interest in a fleeting sort of way. After the dance, the 11th's squad members were yawning and fanning themselves with their hands. The heat had put them into a stupor. "Where is the sake?" one of them grunted.

Rangiku rolled her eyes.

"You promised free sake," another cried out.

Hisana could barely repress the grin lifting the corners of her mouth as she watched an agitated Rangiku stuff a bottle of sake into the man's hands. "Thank you," Rangiku muttered, giving the man a pointed glare.

"I liked the spinny fan thingy. You should do more of that," one of the men suggested.

The moment he uttered the words, "spinny fan thingy," Rangiku's lips sloped into a frown. "That is quite enough for one day," she chirped, ignoring the men for a moment and eyeing the dancers.

Most of the women had already escaped out the back. Hisana looked around to find that she was but one of a handful of the dancers that remained. "Thank you, Vice Captain," she said politely before bowing.

Rangiku observed her from across the room. The busty blonde tilted her chin up, and she smiled at Hisana. She gave a _knowing_ smile. A knowing _devious_ smile—as if she was privy to a dirty secret.

Hisana straightened and smiled back, nodding her head in Rangiku's direction. That did it. Rangiku extricated herself from the horde of men, and she gave Hisana a big _knowing_ hug. "Oh, it has been so long!" she squealed.

Every muscle went stiff. Reflexively, Hisana froze, bracing for the impact of breasts. Rangiku did not disappoint—her heaving bosom smothered Hisana. Hisana turned her cheek and winced. "It hasn't been _that_ long," she murmured softly.

Rangiku set Hisana down on the ground. "Aw, look at you! Is there a special someone?"

With that question, Hisana's cheeks went pink.

Rangiku looped an arm around Hisana's arm, and she moved Hisana toward an empty office. She leaned in and, with a hushed voice, said, "So the rumors _are_ true."

Hisana blinked. Confusion darkened her thoughts. "Rumors?" she muttered to herself.

"Indeed! You have found someone! I never thought it would happen."

Hisana's brows lowered. A mild offense swept through her. "What?"

"Oh, you know, Hisana, you are so cold and prim. Men don't like that. It is too much work." Distractedly, Rangiku turned before crossing the threshold to the empty space. She gave a big wave of her arm. "Save some for me!" she yelled coyly to the men.

They replied in a dull eager roar. It sounded like an obliging type of roar. Hisana, however, was not quite sure. The 11th confused her. Men confused her. Reflecting on the last thought, Hisana considered the possibility that Rangiku was not such bad company after all. Rangiku had a certain je ne sais quoi. She was instantly familiar with _everyone_, and, whenever she spoke to Hisana, Hisana felt like Rangiku saw her as she wished to be seen—flaws and all.

Shoving the door closed with her foot, she immediately turned to Hisana. Her eyes were like lasers, and Hisana was her target. "So _who _is it?" Rangiku asked in a dulcet tone.

Hisana averted her gaze to the floorboards beneath her feet. "Um," she said, contemplating the question. Before she could even form the response in her head, Rangiku broke in frantic to know.

"I heard that you were seeing a _certain_ nobleman. But, that sounded implausible," she said, waving her hand at the thought.

Hisana blinked. "What?" She took umbrage at Rangiku's declaration that her dating a nobleman seemed implausible.

"Oh, yes," Rangiku said with much ado, "_everyone_ is a buzz."

Hisana seriously doubted that _everyone_ was a buzz. The squads were mostly male in composition. Men did not "buzz" about such idle things. For confirmation, Hisana turned her head to see the shadows of the men from the 11th through the shoji doors. No. They most definitely were not _buzzing_. They groaned and spoke in hoarse brutal tones about past conquests.

Rangiku pursed her lips. "But then I saw you today. Your cheeks are so flushed, and your dancing seems more self-possessed."

Hisana's brows lowered and knitted. 'My cheeks are flushed because I spent 5 hours dancing… My dancing seems more self-possessed because I was worried that if the 11th did not like it then they might tear the space down…'

"So who is it?"

"Who does _everyone_ think it is?"

Both questions came out at the same moment. Rangiku looked up at the ceiling as if she was contemplating whether she should reveal the identity. "Well, let's just say that he is the most noble of the noble. You know…"

Hisana's gaze trailed to the walls.

"So who is it?"

Hisana shook her head. "I am afraid that…"

"It is Vice Captain Shiba? I mean, I can understand that. You wouldn't want to reveal it. He is your Vice Captain after all. That is very _inappropriate_, Hisana. But he is handsome so it is understandable." With each sentence, Rangiku's voice carried the sound of a different emotion—excited intrigue melted into a contemplative murmur that soon became a chastising observation before ending on a chipper note.

Hisana watched Rangiku in wide-eyed wonder. She could barely comprehend what Rangiku had just said. Was Rangiku merely speculating to herself but accidently said it aloud? Did any of it make sound logical sense together? Hisana had no clue.

"Shiba seemed so insistent that you dance tomorrow. He seemed worried about you. You really should not be so cruel, Hisana—making your Vice Captain worry like that!"

Hisana tilted her head to the right. "What?"

Her question caught Rangiku's attention. "So it is true? You have a crush on him?" Before Hisana could correct Rangiku, the busty blonde trapped Hisana in a heartfelt hug. "Oh, this is so wonderful. You have so much to learn, little Hisana," she said, easing her embrace. "We have so much to talk about. Tomorrow before the dance. We are having tea! And I can teach you a few _tricks_."

Hisana looked horror-stricken. While she was sure that Rangiku's intentions were pure, she could not help but feel equal measures appalled, mortified, confused, and offended. 'She does have a point,' Hisana admitted after a few moments of staring stupidly at Rangiku, 'she is very good with men.' "Yes, Vice Captain," she managed between her thoughts.

"Oh," Rangiku chirped, "At first, I thought I had it all wrong. But, your acceptance clearly means you _are_ lovesick!"

Silent mortification washed over Hisana as the blonde gave her one last hug.

"Tomorrow. An hour before the dance. At my division."

Hisana bit her bottom lip. A look of worry creased her face. "Yes, Vice Captain. Tomorrow at 1700 hours."

What torture had she consented to?

. . . .

The sweltering heat broke after the sun died. Hisana returned to her division where she remained for hours. Her attention fixed on her paperwork. She filled out three reports, and she read several reports. She had not realized that night had fallen over her until Kaien's voice broke through her thoughts. She could hear him talking to Miyako in the distance. Realizing that they were laughing, she glanced around the empty room, hoping that her presence would not hamper their merrymaking.

She froze for a moment as she planned her escape. She quickly stacked her papers and placed her things away. She had managed to creep three paces across the room before they caught her.

"Hisana," Kaien murmured, shaking his head, "so elusive. Where are your manners?"

She turned. The muscles in her face strained into look that was a mix between a smile and apprehension. "Quite the contrary," she said, finding her words, "I was trying to give you and Miyako privacy."

Kaien blinked at her. "You are wearing the bamboo kimono."

Hisana glanced down. "Oh, yes…" she said, distantly. She had forgotten to put it away after the rehearsal. For a moment, she rebuked herself for her carelessness. She could have _ruined _it, and, if she had ruined the kimono, it would have taken at least 3 years to replace it with her meager earnings.

"You look lovely, Hisana," Miyako said, smiling. "Vice Captain Shiba tells me that you will be dancing tomorrow."

Hisana gave a hesitant nod of her head. "Yes."

"I look forward to it. I missed the festival last year, but the Vice Captain _assures _me that the dance was so tasteful."

Fear gripped her. There would be people there to watch her—people she _knew_. Dancing years prior had not seemed scary. The Second was very cold and private. She did not consider her comrades at the Second to be her _friends_. At the Thirteenth, however, she liked all of her squad members. She respected them. Now, suddenly, the thought of them watching her dance _mortified _her. "Oh, yes," she murmured quietly, "Matsumoto is quite the choreographer."

Kaien's face softened as he watched Hisana. He looked like he wanted to say something to her, but he flinched in Miyako's direction.

Sensing that Miyako wanted to be alone with Kaien, Hisana smiled sweetly at the two. "Good evening," she said, giving a quick bow before flash-stepping out the door.

When she reached the center of the city, she fell into a languid stroll. She felt torn. She was physically tired and hunger simmered in her stomach, but she was mentally alert. Absently, she followed the streets toward the First Division. The stage for the dance would be at the First. The brass had suckered several academy students into setting up the stage, and she could hear their grunts as she passed. A small smile lifted her lips as she observed the young male bodies at work. They were so young and hopeful, and they still had a gangly look about them.

She glanced down to see the beautiful bamboo pattern adorning her kimono. "Ugh," she murmured under her breath. She felt the compulsive urge to run home to change. "Well…" Suddenly, an idea seized her with such ferocity that her better judgment died on impact. She quickly felt against her obi, and she withdrew her ugly octopus folding fan. It would do.

She picked up the pace toward her sacred spot—in the forest near the bridge. In the dark and quiet of night, she focused her thoughts on the dance. With every motion, she thought about how to improve it. She did not know how long it took before she managed to get to the halfway mark where she changed hands.

Her injured hand shook. It was a slight tremor, but it unnerved her. She tried the simple fan maneuver again and again. She could not train the shake from her, and the more she tried, the more the injured arm ached and the worse the tremor became.

Upset, she paused mid-dance, fisted her hands, and spun around to find Byakuya standing a few feet away. Her eyes widened, and she felt her color rising. Discomfiture heated her entire body, and it short-circuited her thoughts. She quickly shielded her face in shame and pulled her injured arm into the long sleeves of the furisode. Before she could fully hide her offensive hand, he held it with both hands. His touch was tender and warm.

Her lips separated as she looked down. The sensation was unmistakable—the warm prickling heat of kido. He nervously looked down at her, and she could feel his reiatsu waiver as he searched her face.

She had never seen him look so uneasy. His eyes looked at her questioningly. He seemed so uncomfortable—like he was holding back. She could almost see the mental restraints snap back into place as she deepened the look. Her embarrassment dissipated as she stared into his grey eyes.

Unconsciously, he shifted closer. His hold on her hand tightened, and his reiatsu intensified. The look of unease that he wore only deepened. His repose had been irrevocably shattered. Something primal took hold of him. It was such an intense and unfamiliar feeling. He relished it as he stared down at her, and he wondered if she felt that way towards him.

Hisana's brows pulled together, and she tilted her chin up. His gaze was so intense that it frightened her. It frightened her because she understood that look. She felt that look surge through her, burning every muscle and nerve. She had that look on her face. Her exhaustion and hunger faded from her—consumed by some foreign feeling. It was not yearning or even longing. She had yearned and longed in so many different ways, and she had yearned and longed for so many souls that she understood those feelings intimately. The emotional burdens that she carried were unknowable to others, but she considered them personal relations. What she felt at that moment was nothing short of intoxication. She felt like she could melt into his hands.

"You are dancing tomorrow?" he murmured so softly that she had to strain to hear him.

She looked up at him chastely and nodded. "I didn't mean… I mean, I would rather… Vice Captain Shiba signed me up," she said distractedly, lost in his gaze.

"You look beautiful," he interrupted. His face was so sincere.

She felt her cheeks heat. She wanted to be beautiful suddenly. She wanted to be the Hisana that he erected in his head. "Will you watch me dance?" Her large eyes glistened beseechingly in the silvery moonlight.

"I am your escort for the festival," he said as if it did not make sense any other way.

She smiled brightly up at him. She was irrationally happy that he remembered his proposal. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to do everything with him. It all seemed like a dream—a most wonderful dream—when he was near. "Thank you, Byakuya-" Before she could add the honorific, he stopped her lips with a kiss.

Her heart sang. Her body felt limp. He wrapped a firm arm around her, and she caught the folds of his robes in her fingers.

It was reckless.

They were being so reckless.

But, she did not want to stop it, and neither did he.

He gently pushed her against a large tree bole. His kissed her chastely at first then more urgently. Her lips were soft, and the sweet flavor of rice lingered on her mouth. He gripped the tops of her arms, and, in response, she rested her forearms and hands against his chest. He felt her tremble against him in anticipation. As of late, he had been so careful to resist the urge to touch her. They had shared a sweet embrace the day prior, and he held her hand in the hospital. Nothing more, he promised himself. He trained hard to swallow the strange and constant emotion that swelled in his chest. He almost took pleasure in holding it all in, but, then, he could no longer. His mental restraints broke, and he kissed her neck. She smelled of white plum perfume, and her skin was salty from physical exertion. His hands slid down her arms. He felt the narrow dip of her waist under all the fabric before stopping at her hips. They are small and thin. Abruptly, he pinned her tightly to the tree, and his kisses became bolder.

Hisana felt a tectonic shift under her at the feel of his mouth—so warm and delightful—against the sensitive skin of her neck. The sensation proved too much, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Without her arms between them, the space separating their bodies diminished. His body pulled fast and hard to hers, and her vision seemingly dimmed. Feeling his mouth inch to her clavicle, darkness fell over her. She prayed that she did not falter. Her legs felt numb and shaky. Her body tensed and jerked reflexively the moment she felt his grip on her tighten. A throaty moan escaped her at the suddenness of his strength against her.

His grip softened the instant she made the noise, and he observed her. He looked embarrassed for a moment, and, leaning his head against hers, he made a soft confession in the dark: "I have never felt like this. Thank you."

She cupped his face in her hands, and she kissed him passionately.

. . . .

"You will _ruin_ us!"

Byakuya sat still—not fully comprehending what was conspiring around him. His mind was somewhere else. He had not been himself for some time. He had been out of sorts. Distractedly, he turned his attention to the family member yelling about certain ruin. He had to admit that he was not really paying his second cousin once removed much heed. His grandfather had not bothered to attend; Ginrei's absence set the tone for Byakuya.

"What were you thinking?" another disembodied voice railed. "You are being reckless!"

He looked remote. He had much practice at steeling himself against his family. He had been a hot-tempered child; he had been a wild teenager; and, now, he was a reckless young adult. He was making progress. They just refused to acknowledge it, he mused.

"You are making fools out of all of us!" This time the voice was feminine—an aunt of some stripe.

He continued to stare ahead.

It had been so much easier when his father was alive. Sōjun Kuchiki was so kind and reasonable that the family did not know what to do with him. Sōjun could dispel the "Your son…" objections with an easy smile and some gentle advocacy. Byakuya had always wondered how his father managed it. Diplomacy did not seem to be his family's weak spot, and, even if it was, Byakuya did not have the patience.

Ginrei, however, was quick and severe with his admonishments. As the head of the house, he could silence the choir of dolts with a look. Byakuya did not have the title or the maturity to do such a thing.

Instead, he sat quietly. Each member spoke his or her piece in ugly harsh words. He stared blankly at each in kind. His method—detachment—did not work. It just infuriated them more. He was certain the word, "arrogant," had been bandied back and forth. It always was.

"Sir Byakuya, could you just give Lady Kokiden another chance?" a voice, pleading.

He glanced at the relative and closed his eyes. "Enough," he murmured. He had heard enough. He had spared an hour to hear their vitriol. "I have heard enough," he said again over the eruption of whispers. Before he could stand, the door to the room peeled back. A bright rectangle of yellow light cut the dim dark of the conference room.

The cold chill that followed in Ginrei's wake was unmistakable. A stifling silence blanketed the room. Only the nobles' expressions seemed to communicate their anxiety at their little Lord's decision.

Ginrei raised his head, acknowledging the group as a whole in a singular look. Listlessly, he assumed his position at the head of the table. To his right was Byakuya, and the seat to his left was empty. No one had assumed the role of Lady Kuchiki in many long years, and, thus, the left chair remained empty.

Judging by the way that some of his family stared at the chair, Byakuya wondered if they were merely arguing over furniture. It had become a symbol for the clan. The empty chair. Ginrei had married, produced offspring, and, when his wife died, he never remarried. It was natural. Marriage among nobles was for the line. Byakuya had never stopped to consider whether his grandfather had refused to replace his grandmother because his grandfather _loved_ her and could not bear the pain. Love seemed like such a low preoccupation then. But, as Byakuya sat gazing at the chair, he considered the possibility.

"What is this infernal noise?" Ginrei asked coldly.

"Sir Byakuya-" Before the relative could get the words out, Ginrei lifted a hand.

"Byakuya, what is this row you have caused in my house?"

At the boom of his grandfather's voice, Byakuya withdrew from his solitude. His gaze darkened, and he tucked his chin down. "I have formally rejected Lady Kokiden's family."

Ginrei looked down on his grandson. If Byakuya had not thought the expression below his grandfather, he would have taken the look as one of great amusement.

"Of course he did. She is an insipid girl," Ginrei stated firmly.

Byakuya could almost feel the air being sucked in to fuel the gasp that erupted.

"He has a _common_ predilection."

"I assume you mean Hisana?" Ginrei asked.

Byakuya's eyes widened at her name. He felt numbed—exposed. How did his grandfather know? Why had he not said something—ill or comforting—about the matter?

"Yes. This _common _woman from Rukongai!"

"The 78th," voices hissed.

Ginrei glanced over at Byakuya. "Is this true?"

Byakuya lifted his head. "Yes, dear Grandfather."

Ginrei appeared indifferent, which was always a bad sign. That sort of coldness only crossed his face when he was deeply perturbed.

"It should be forbidden!" a relative exclaimed.

"I believe it was," Ginrei stated clearly, "I believe all of you forbade it. You sent retinues and bodyguards and _spies_ with the boy wherever he went. He does not want to marry Lady Kokiden. He will not marry Lady Kokiden."

"What of the other _lovely_ noblewoman? Surely, he cannot find all of them so abhorrent!" Byakuya's great aunt said in her creaking voice. She was old but still quite involved in the family's dealings.

"Byakuya? What of the other noblewomen?" Ginrei's face was inscrutable. Byakuya could not tell if his grandfather was exasperated or merely calculating.

"I do not wish to continue with the miai." Considering his words, Byakuya paused and revised accordingly, "I _will not_ continue with the miai."

Ginrei exhaled a sigh.

"Recommendations, Lord Kuchiki?" Byakuya's great aunt asked.

Ginrei turned to his grandson. His face looked grey and weary. "Byakuya, the family recommends that you continue with the miai. Marriage is a union of houses, nothing more."

Byakuya's gaze trailed to the floor. His grandfather's words were cryptic: _Marriage is a union of houses, nothing more._ Marriage seemed like _more_ than that. And, if it was not then what did that mean? What was his grandfather proposing he do when he found something _more_ than a union between houses?

"Yes, Sir Byakuya, if you _must,_ take this _Hisana_ as a concubine," his great aunt murmured.

Byakuya glared at the woman. Indignant. Hisana would never accept the proposal to be his _concubine_. She, rightly so, would take umbrage at such a prospect.

"Lady Kokiden looks so much like her, you could just _pretend_," a cousin suggested.

Byakuya's expression soured at the last observation. He could do no such thing. It was pointless, humoring them. Disgusted, he exhaled a breath before uttering a firm, "I reject such recommendations. I will not continue. If the family would like to continue with the miai, I suggest they find another heir," he said, taking to his feet.

"Byakuya," Ginrei spat, annoyed, "sit down." Ginrei gestured to the right chair.

Byakuya paused mid-step. His muscles went rigid, and the lines of his face assumed a stony veneer. Stiffly, he lifted his head. "I respect your recommendations, Grandfather, but I will not heed them. Arranged marriages and concubines never did anyone in this house a bit of good," he said tersely.

At his recalcitrance, the entire room erupted into a fit of cries. Byakuya could hear his relatives pleading with Ginrei: _Please, do something! What will become of us? He is so arrogant. Can we force him to abdicate his position?_

Byakuya paused shortly outside the door. Someone must have said something cruel about his father because Ginrei rebuked him or her for using harsh words against the departed. They blamed Sōjun for all of Byakuya's perceived missteps.

"Wolves," he murmured before continuing down the hall.

. . . .

Hisana watched her men train. "Hips wider," she corrected, eyeing one pointedly. "Connect," she said sharply. She then began counting the maneuvers. She was so happy that they were improving. Satisfied that they had the proper technique, she allowed them to break off and spar with one another.

"Hisana," one of the unseated officers called down to her from the offices. "Hisana!"

She turned to see the chubby Shinigami stumble toward her. Reflexively, she folded her arms against her chest as she acknowledged him. "Yes?" she called back.

"Your presence is requested by the Vice Captain."

She nodded. "Continue," she said to her men. "I will return."

She climbed the hill to the offices and wound her way to the Vice Captain's office. Kaien stood with Miyako and her squad of men. "Yes, Vice Captain."

"The Thirteenth is in charge of monitoring a simulation for the Academy. The simulation will take place in the World of the Living."

Hisana nodded.

"Miyako's squad, Hisana, and I will go. Miyako will oversee the Division in my stead."

All signaled their understanding.

"Come on," he said. Stealing a sidelong glance, he winked at Hisana, "I will get you back before your dance," he promised.

She smiled and shook her head. "It is quite alright."

When they arrived to Karakura Town, the Academy instructors were briefing the candidates. A few klicks away, the Fifth Division was monitoring another group of students. Hisana glanced into the forest reflexively, sensing Gin Ichimaru's presence nearby.

"The Thirteenth Division has been kind to set the perimeter for us today," the instructor said, nodding his head toward Kaien, Hisana, and the squad. On cue, the group disbanded to secure the perimeter.

Like a well-oiled machine, the group of students located a hollow. It was large and lumbering, and Hisana could sense that it was strong. Likely, strong enough to down the students on their own. This simulation was about teamwork.

While there was no perceivable danger, her hand settled on the hilt of her Zanpakutō. It was old habit. Tiredly, she watched the students. They were Second years, and they all looked paralyzingly frantic. None of them seemed to have a shred of sense about them.

"I was never that young," she murmured sarcastically to Kaien, who stood only a few meters away.

"Me either. I was born with well-honed warrior skill," he retorted sardonically.

She giggled. "I believe it."

He grinned at her. "Besides dancing, do you have any other plans for tonight?"

Scarlet colored her face. "Yes," she said vaguely. "Do you?"

His brows lifted at her reaction. "It must be something special then," he chuckled, ignoring her question.

"Tea with Matsumoto." It was a prevarication, but she rather doubted that Byakuya would want her to broadcast their tryst. Part of her remained skeptical that he would attend. She kept thinking that his family would call him away at the last minute, or, worse yet, his family would lock him up until he came to his senses.

"It must be a very perverse tea judging by your face."

She smiled widely. "Is there any other kind with Matsumoto?"

He laughed. Then, that inscrutable expression played across his face as he watched her. Instinctively, she shifted nervously. She had always wondered what the look meant. It made her feel like he was holding something back—an observation, a feeling, a fact.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden eruption of spiritual pressure broke her thoughts. "What is that?" Both she and Kaien turned to face the disruption. It emanated from the other group of students.

Everyone stood stock-still. The Academy students likely could not move—pinned down by the enormous spiritual pressure. Hisana looked over to find the students frozen in fear. Their hollow continued to rail against them, and, perceiving the danger it presented, she and Kaien quickly moved to dispatch it. She bound it with a high-level kido attack, and Kaien downed the hollow with a calculated strike.

The instructor was quickly setting up a passage back to Soul Society when Kaien looked back at Hisana. "You and the squad make sure the 2nd years make it back. Ichimaru and I will handle the disturbance," he ordered.

Hisana nodded. "Be careful," she called back. Her voice became lost in the commotion.

Swiftly, Hisana helped the students through the chaos. Maneuvering them to the portal, she glanced back. "The light," she murmured to herself. Just beyond the forested area she could see a strange light. It was greenish-blue and pale.

"The light from my dream…" The thought provoked a sudden sound of static in her ears. Her mind's eye focused on a grainy image: She had seen the light in the West 78th. After she collapsed, she had woken briefly to see someone bent over her, and he held a green-blue light in his hands.

What did it mean?

Hisana shook the memory away. Carefully, she ushered the last of the students through the Senkaimon. With the students secured, she waited for Kaien and Ichimaru. It did not take long for them to emerge from the forest.

Only Kaien and Ichimaru returned. Hisana's eyes widened. "The Fifth?" Reflexively, she lifted her head to glimpse her men out of her periphery. They stood near the portal. All of them accounted for.

As they neared, Kaien and Ichimaru wore an unmistakably worn look. Sweat beaded on their heads, and their skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. Even Ichimaru's smile cracked. It was not as wide nor as menacing.

Kaien caught her eye, and he nodded. She turned toward the Thirteenth members, "Move forward," she murmured.

In a daze, Hisana returned to the Thirteenth. Kaien ordered the men to return to their scheduled activities. He then turned to Hisana. She could sense that he was expecting the imploring look on her face. She did not even have to ask.

"They died," he murmured.

She did not flinch. It was as she suspected. A grim look turned her features into a frown, and her gaze fell out of reverence. "What happened?"

Kaien shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know how it got so out of control."

Hisana clenched her jaw. "I have some sake in my office," she offered.

Kaien seemed a little taken aback by her forwardness. Or, perhaps, he was surprised to find that she kept sake on hand. Silently, he followed her to her office, and she poured two cups. "Flowers fall, the water flows red, grief is infinite," she murmured holding her cup up.

Kaien clinked his cup against hers in morose agreement. "Yes."

The two drank their sake in a bittersweet silence. It was not stifling or oppressive. It was a gentle mutual type of quiet that squelched the words from their mouths. It was comforting, but it ended all too abruptly. The sound of the door opening pierced the stillness of the room.

"Hisana, Vice Captain Matsumoto requests your presence at the division." It was one of her men.

Hisana nodded her head. "It has gotten late," she murmured, glancing at Kaien.

He nodded his head. "Have a nice time, Hisana," he said softly.

"Vice Captain, it would honor me if you could make it to the dance."

He gave a small half-smile at her invitation. "Of course."

Hisana bowed her farewell.

She took a shortcut to the Tenth. When she arrived and identified herself and her purpose, an attendant escorted her to the Tenth's offices. "Hello, Hisana!" Rangiku greeted warmly.

"Vice Captain," Hisana gave a shallow bow before she was brought to her feet with a tight embrace.

"So, funny story, the Tenth has no tea. But, we have warm sake! It is from the World of the Living!" The moment Hisana sat down, Rangiku stuffed the steaming cup of sake in her hands.

"Oh," Hisana tried to think of a reason to refuse, but a sharp look from Rangiku quieted her.

"Drink. It will steady your nerves!"

"Nerves?" Hisana murmured, staring into the warm liquid.

"You don't get nervous? I get so nervous." The words came tumbling out of Rangiku's mouth.

"About dancing?"

"No!" Rangiku sputtered. "When I am getting ready to impress a suitor, I get nervous."

Hisana blinked, not believing a word of it. However, it was probably Rangiku's most humanizing moment. The blonde was always so self-possessed and cunning. It was hard to imagine that she ever felt anxiety—especially over a date.

"You look shocked!" Rangiku giggled. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, repressing another giggle.

"You just seem so _comfortable_."

Rangiku lifted the cup of sake. "That is what this is for! Liquid courage."

Rangiku's voice was so playful when she said the words that Hisana doubted her sincerity. "Oh," she said, looking into her cup. It seemed like regular sake. Rangiku, however, said that it was from the World of the Living. Perhaps, it was stronger? Hisana took a quaff; the liquid burned her on its way down her throat. Suddenly, she felt warm and languid. 'Maybe I should not have had that drink with Vice Captain Shiba.'

Rangiku laughed. "You must not be that worried then."

Hisana looked at the woman, dumbfounded. She had been trying to relax before the dance, but now she was all aflutter. The thought of Byakuya only amplified her heady state.

"Your cheeks are pink," Rangiku said, swiftly taking the cup from Hisana's hands. "We don't need you getting sick on stage."

Hisana nodded absently. The room moved at a slow tilt.

"Now, I am going to show you a trick," Rangiku said sweetly.

Hisana's eyes found Rangiku, but sake and anxiety clouded her thoughts. She saw Rangiku in isolation. The woman's hair, figure, and face were apparent, but nothing else seemed to make sense.

"Whenever you drink from a cup, you need to flash your eyes up just as you take a sip. Catch him in your eye, and, then, look back down demurely. Men love that. It lets them know that you are interested in them." Hisana's brows knitted together, watching Rangiku take a seductive sip of sake. "Now, you do it, Hisana."

As if commanded by a spell, Hisana took a sip and gave Rangiku a quick look over the brim of the cup. She then lifted her brows as if to ask, 'How did I do?'

"Eh," Rangiku responded in a deflated breath, "you aren't supposed to _scold_ the man with your eyes."

Hisana continued to practice the look until Rangiku appeared satisfied. "Oh, that is much better, Hisana!" she said gleefully. "Now, the most important thing that you need to remember is to watch him as if your life depended on it. Look at him as if you were drawing your last breath. They like that. Men are so self-centered."

Hisana laughed into the sleeve of her uniform.

"No, I am being perfectly earnest. Men, especially Shinigami, are very _proud_ of _themselves_. Laugh at all of his jokes—and trust me some will be cringe-worthy. Look at him as if he was the only thing in the world."

Hisana grinned at the observation. She would have no problem looking at him as if he was the only person in Soul Society.

Rangiku pressed a finger to her lip in a pensive look. "Oh, we have so little time and so much to cover," she said peering up at the clock. She gave a noncommittal grunt at the predicament. "Well, I guess that is all for now. You let me know how it goes. Even if it goes badly."

Hisana smiled. "Thank you, Vice Captain Matsumoto."

"I suppose we better be going," Rangiku murmured.

Hisana nodded.

. . . .

"Here, Hisana," a female Shinigami of the Eighth handed her a folded kimono.

"Oh, no. I have the bamboo print," she said, extending her arm with the kimono folded in its curve.

The female shook her head. "Matsumoto wants you in the scarlet kimono. She said that it was 'fitting.'" The Shinigami shrugged, clearly not understanding what Rangiku had meant by "fitting."

Hisana blushed. "Oh, I don't know. It is awfully catching, isn't?"

The female's lips curled into a look of anxiety. "You are very talented. I think that is the point." Another shrug.

Hisana took the scarlet kimono and handed the bamboo print to the Shinigami. Moving to a quiet corner of the room, she unfurled the kimono. It was breathtaking. The silk was fine and soft, and the delicate floral pattern was expertly painted. The red was so vibrant that it almost pained her. It was the color of passion.

"Oh, Hisana, I see that you were informed about the wardrobe change. This kimono was donated to us a day ago. Some nameless _charitable_ soul wanted us to have it. Since it was red, I thought you would be _perfect_ for it, considering your condition." Rangiku's canorous voice broke through Hisana's gratitude.

Briefly, Hisana wondered who would have donated such a fine piece. "Are you sure? Won't it call attention-"

Rangiku lifted a hand, signaling that she would hear no more. "It _should_ call attention! Don't you want your guy to notice you? No one would notice a boring bamboo print. Everyone wears those during the summer months!"

Hisana smiled and lowered her head diffidently. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

The girls were dressed and summarily ushered to the stage. An abrupt light shone on the stage, and the band began to play. Hisana took a deep breath as she crossed the floor. She closed her eyes, and her heart soared in her chest. Her mind focused on a feeling she experienced many long years ago—she had felt flawless, clean and beautiful as a child when she danced. A calm confidence settled in her heart.

Gently and demurely, the dancers demonstrated their grace and skillful footwork. It did not last long before they bowed their thanks. The lights on the stage were so bright that Hisana could not discern anything beyond them. For all she knew, no one had bothered to attend, but the clapping at the end confirmed there was an audience.

Hisana exited the stage in turn. The instant she stepped off, however, she heard her name on Rangiku's lips. "Hisana," the busty blonde called. Jovially, she waved her hand to catch Hisana's attention. "Come here!"

Hisana obliged.

Rangiku beamed down at Hisana, and, when she stepped back, she exposed Kaien. He looked amused by whatever it was Rangiku had told him. Hisana almost fainted when she saw him. Pink marks began to paint her cheeks, and she glanced down, shivering. Why had she not corrected Rangiku's misunderstanding the day prior?

Rangiku gave Hisana a knowing look, and she stepped away.

"Vice Captain Shiba," Hisana greeted. She was half choking on her words, praying that Rangiku had not said something embarrassing.

A half-grin pulled a corner of his mouth up. "You were very good."

She fidgeted with her robes. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and she bowed her head. She was not used to compliments. "Thank you, Vice Captain. I hope you found the dance appropriate."

"I did," he said softly.

"Thank you," she murmured gently, still too afraid to meet his gaze. Anxiously, her eyes shifted to the crowd. Unconsciously, she searched the sea of denizens for the one that had occupied her thoughts in the between moments.

Observing her in the flickering lights, Kaien tilted his head to the side. "Would you like to get a drink?" His voice was so low and so quiet that she almost missed the question entirely.

"I am afraid that that she cannot oblige." Hisana's eyes widened at the sound of his strong voice. A chill ripped through her, and she shuddered.

"Lord Byakuya," she said in an excited breath. She turned to see him. He was dressed in his noble silks and haori.

"She has promised to escort me for the evening," he explained in a clipped cadence.

Kaien gave Byakuya a pointed stare. "Is this true, Hisana?" he asked, glancing down at her.

For a moment, she could sense his concern, and she trembled. "Yes, Vice Captain," she said softly.

Kaien was nonplussed. His brows furrowed, and she could tell that his mind was working a mile a minute to comprehend what had just happened. Hisana was not too proud to admit that her pairing with the nobleman was strange and confusing. She suspected that Kaien moved onto considering Byakuya's ulterior motives.

"The offer still stands if you are available tomorrow," Kaien said gently; his gaze focused on Hisana and only Hisana. His coldness toward Byakuya was expected. Kaien found Byakuya's entitlements a constant source of agitation.

"Thank you, Vice Captain Shiba," she said, bowing.

Kaien returned her gesture before giving Byakuya a furtive onceover. Byakuya met Kaien's gaze, and his features blackened into a cold calculating look. Hisana had seen that look before. It was the shielded look of hostility. When Kaien was out of earshot, Byakuya turned to her. His expression softened but only slightly.

"Thank you for coming, Lord Byakuya," but, before she could get all the words out, he interrupted her.

"Does he invite you to drink often?" His lips compacted, and the light in his eyes hardened.

Hisana shook imperceptibly under the hot silk. While she had invited _Kaien_ to drink that day, Kaien had never explicitly asked her to go drinking. They had wound up at a bar during the Cherry Blossom Festival, but the excursion had been unplanned. They had gone at the insistence of their squad.

She then pondered why this perturbed Byakuya so. He knew that Kaien was her Vice Captain. His grandfather was a Shinigami, and his father had been a Shinigami. Both of them, surely, knew that their men drank to unwind. Kaien's offer did not seem so forward in that context. "No," she said after a lengthy pause, "Is there something the matter?"

Byakuya lifted his head. "What coarse manners he has," he murmured, gazing into the crowd.

"There was an incident in the World of the Living. I think he is tired," she explained, kindly.

Byakuya looked at her with an almost reproachful gaze. Hisana repressed the urge to grin. He stubbornly fixated on Kaien, and she could tell that he took umbrage at her defense. "Did you like the dance?" she asked, hoping to digress.

He turned his attention back to her, and a trace of a smile lengthened his lips. "You were beautiful," he said softly.

She smiled chastely, and her face flushed. The way he looked at her was so intimate that is unsettled her. "Thank you," she said, averting her gaze.

"You should perform a mai," he suggested in a soft voice. His words were so quiet that it took some mental effort on Hisana's part to discern them.

Her face turned scarlet. Hesitantly, she looked up at him. Her eyes flickered as if she was too embarrassed to hold his gaze for longer than a moment. "But that is performed in a private room," she murmured, wondering if she had understood him. He lifted his head and gave her a knowing look. If she had not known better, she would have fancied it a rather devious look. She smiled demurely. "Of course."

He took her hand in his as the throng of souls became thick. She flinched against his touch. He had such a strange effect on her. When he was gone, she longed for him. When he was near, anxiety numbed her into a state of emotional paralysis. She prayed for respite from the emotional maelstrom.

Spotting a lovely sight, she pulled him toward a display. He was quite taken aback by her sudden forwardness. Stopping at the vendor, she smiled gently. Her eyes were wide, and they shone brightly in the moonlight. Ensnared by her look, he had hardly noticed that she was eagerly trying to draw his attention to the wares.

"Milord," she said, raising her chin in the direction of the items.

He glanced down. "Calligraphy." Lovely scrolls decorated the kiosk. It was student work, but some of it was very good.

She blushed. "I noticed that you practice."

His gaze shifted to her. Silently, he wondered where she had learned of his hobby. He had never spoken to her of his fondness for calligraphy, and he doubted that others save for intimate family relations or servants even knew. Then, it dawned on him. She must have seen his work when she was in his quarters that late evening. She was very observant and very thoughtful. "Do you like calligraphy?"

She smiled and nodded. "I love to see the works of others, but I am not very good."

"I could teach you."

Her smile widened. "I would like that."

His features softened, and, absently, he squeezed her hand.

"Lord Byakuya Kuchiki and the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat. How perverse." Hisana stiffened at the sound of Gin's voice.

Both she and Byakuya turned to face the intruder. "I am glad to see that the Vice Captain of the Fifth is well considering the day's events," Hisana greeted through clenched teeth. She braced against his oppressive aura. When she looked up, she saw Rangiku, and her eyes widened.

Rangiku's gaze was all seeing. Hisana was certain that the perceptive Vice Captain had seen Byakuya's hand against hers. It still was. Rangiku's brow perked up, and a look of amused shock passed over her face. She fanned herself with a simple folding fan, and, catching Hisana's attention, passed the fan from her left hand to her right hand. Hisana lifted her head and opened her fan, touching it near her eye. Rangiku responded by lifting her fan to her cheek.

Byakuya watched the women's communications out of the corner of his eye as he addressed Gin with an agitated look.

"How is the _family_?" Gin's smile widened at the last word.

Byakuya's lips drew into a tight line, and the light in his eyes dimmed. "Well."

"So liberal minded they have become," Gin said, eyeing Hisana. Just as Gin made a motion toward her, Byakuya countered by shifting in front of her protectively. This seemed to amuse Gin greatly, but Byakuya could not discern why it provoked such a response. "Perhaps not?" Gin said, cocking his head to the side.

"Come, come," Rangiku called to Gin in breathless languor. "Stop harassing the lovely couple," she said, smiling sweetly down at Hisana. Hisana bowed politely.

Watching them walk away, she glimpsed Byakuya in her periphery. She parted her lips to speak, but the words did not come. She felt guilty. Her sudden solemnness broke when she felt him pull her forward.

In silence, they threaded their way through the crowd. He led her to a quiet knoll that overlooked the rambling river. A faint smile pulled at her lips. It was a beautiful sight. Brilliant yellow lights floated on the water's current. The sound of crickets filled her ears, and there was a tranquil sort of peace that lingered so close to the commotion of the festival. She turned to him. He appeared pensive.

"How are your studies?" she asked, realizing that they had barely spoken. It was so unusual. When they met before the ill-fated mission, they would tease and speak more freely. He was more vibrant and open then, especially when they sparred. Looking out onto the river, he seemed so remote and sullen. He had become more guarded and contemplative since her injury. She missed his unexpected bouts of playfulness.

Moments passed before he seemingly registered her question. "Well," he sighed.

"You don't seem well," she observed softly. "Have I upset you?"

He glanced up at the firmament. His brow bent in a look of sadness. "Never," his eyes dropped to her, "you never upset me."

Her lips smiled, but the expression did not soften the look of worry in her eyes. Her head dropped as realization struck. His family was the barrier. He was fiercely loyal to his family, and he was proud of heritage. They must have made demands. He appeared conflicted. She wondered if the conflict centered on his desire to respect his family's wishes while being afforded the ability to follow his heart. At the last observation, she shivered. Did she even know his heart? Had she managed to carve out a space in it? "Your family?" she probed gently.

He gave her a sidelong glance. "They have been… They want… I have been forced to…"

"Byakuya Kuchiki? Flustered?" she teased, hoping that it would break the tension. It did not. If possible, he looked more desolate.

"My family desires me to marry soon."

Hisana tried to master her features and swallow the sudden torrent of sadness that churned in her stomach. She was certain that she could feel the burn of tears pooling in her eyes. She inhaled a deep breath, and squeezed her eyelids shut. He would not see her cry. She would not cry over this. She was being foolish. Their tryst had been an illusion—nothing more than a fleeting dream. A wonderful sort of dream.

He gazed down at her. A strained expression crossed her face. He felt saddened that his words had elicited such a response. She did not deserve this torment. She was an innocent in this matter, and he wanted nothing but the best for her. "I have refused to continue with the arranged marriage."

She exhaled and opened her eyes. She had fought back the tears, and she tried to muster a look of happiness for his sake. "You have chosen, then? A bride, I mean?"

"I have made my choice."

She managed a warm smile, but the warmth of the smile did not extend to the rest of her face. It was a façade. Her eyes were dead. She looked like she was trying to numb her true feelings. "Oh?" She knew the name in her heart. She knew that his family pressed him to wed Lady Kokiden.

"Yes, I have made a choice. If she will have me."

Hisana's brows furrowed. 'Such a strange sentiment: _If she will have me_. What does that mean? Any woman in Soul Society would gladly have him.' Her expression betrayed her inner confusion, and he elaborated.

"Will you consent to my courting you?"

She stared at him, dumbly. "When you are married?" she asked, confused.

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked amused. "No, now."

"A courtship?"

He nodded.

"Of me?" It finally dawned on her that she was the woman he hoped would "have" him. "Yes," she said quickly.

Tenderly, he took her injured hand in his own. She thought he was examining it when she realized that he was carefully tying a red thread around her wrist. Her arm went numb, and her heart fluttered.

The sound of firecrackers boomed over them.

Holding his gaze, she smiled and said, "Thank you so much, Sir Byakuya."

He kissed her chastely under the sparkle of fire.


	17. Scandal

** Chapter 16: Scandal **

The room was silent. Dawn was beginning to break, and a soft yellow light lined the horizon. The dark blacks of twilight were beginning to melt to the light blues of daybreak.

Hisana rustled under the covers. Sleeping, she curled into the fetal position, and she shivered. A violence settled over her. It shook her deeply to her core. Sleep offered her no respite. Her dreams—once either unremarkable or forgotten entirely upon waking—were now horrifically vibrant. Tormented, her mind conjured indomitable beasts. Death was everywhere. Grand and opulently-imagined battlefields contained opponents vast in strength and number; the opponents were _superior_ to anything or anyone Soul Society, itself, had ever dreamed up.

Everyone died. Civilians, captains, students, seated, and unseated officers alike. No one was immune from the army of beasts. The beasts, themselves, were unlike anything that she had ever seen. They were strange fell creatures that had attributes of both hollow and Shinigami.

Every night she relived the torment of watching everyone ripped from her. Every night she witnessed death on such a grand scale, and every morning she woke in a feverish heartbroken state.

This morning was no different.

Hisana startled into a seated position on her bed. Her eyes flew open, and a cold panic coursed through her veins, seemingly replacing her blood with liquid fear. The sharp sting of screams pierced her throat. Realization hit only moments later, and she cupped her mouth with her hand.

"I am in my room," she murmured to herself, hoping that it would center her. Stray sunbeams caught in her eyes and reflected off the beads of tears in her lashes. Inhaling a deep breath, she leaned over and hugged her knees to her chest. As she moved, the damp fabric of her sleeping gown clung uncomfortably to her skin.

She felt so ill—physically and emotionally. Her body throbbed; her heart pitter-pattered at a jittery tempo; she could not maintain focus; and, sweat drenched her entire body, wetting her sleeping garments and bed linens. The exhaustion was wearing her down. Her concentration broke at the slightest diversion, and she felt nauseous for most of the day.

The night terrors had proven too much.

Shivering, she slid her hand over the futon. The linens were so damp. There was no way that she could sleep on them. Her lips turned down at the observation. Yet, she was so tired.

Carelessly, she hoisted herself up, standing. Feeling her weight under her, Hisana swore she could hear and feel her body _creak_ at the slightest amount of exertion. She felt aged well beyond her years. "I am not old," she murmured in a hoarse voice.

She glanced over her shoulder to the small mirror stationed on her vanity. Absently, she descried her reflection. "I look like a mess." Her hair was dull and matted. Her skin was not milky white but ashen, and dark grey circles lined her eyes. Even her once bright blue eyes lacked their usual glossy radiance. Hisana frowned, shifting her weight to examine her frame. "I've lost weight." Her brows pulled together at the last observation. She had not intended to lose weight. In fact, she had wanted to gain weight. After her convalescence at the Fourth, she had lost so much weight and definition. It had been a struggle to get back to fighting form, and, now, she seemed to be losing what little gains she made. A worried look creased her face, bending her delicate features into a frown.

Something was wrong. Something beyond the nightmares—something beyond the insomnia—something deep within her was awry. She had a sinking suspicion that the strange light that haunted her dreams played a role in her misery.

It all began after that fateful mission.

A small chill ran its icy fingers down her spine as she leaned to gather the bed dressings. She had to wash them. Frantically, she began collecting items that needed cleaned, and, as she went on her scavenger hunt, she began straightening the items in her small tidy apartment. "I am nervous," she noted to herself in a breathless voice, "I only straighten things when I am nervous." A great overwhelming wave of panic crashed over her. She felt adrift like a kite caught on a stray wind without its tether.

She knew what she had to do: She had to go to the Twelfth's library and research the hollow that attacked her, and she had to research the strange item. It would take days to go through the vast catalogues, but it was inevitable. She had been avoiding the task since she returned to her duties at the Thirteenth. But, gazing into her pitiful reflection, she knew it had to be done sooner rather than later.

. . . .

"You're on student duty!" Kiyone Kotetsu chirped at Hisana, the moment she stepped into the Thirteenth's offices. The Fourth Seat appeared incredibly chipper as she rushed to greet Hisana from across the room. Kiyone held a packet of papers, and she foisted the paperwork toward Hisana's chest.

Hisana glanced down at the woman, trying her best to mask the disillusioned look in her eyes. "What?" her voice was equal measures soft and gentle.

"Yep. Every year at orientation the divisions are asked to send a representative to tour the incoming class. Vice Captain Shiba chose you."

'Of course he did,' Hisana _wanted _to mutter, but she stopped herself mid-sigh. Kaien had been signing her up for all sorts of _extracurricular _activities lately. She did not know what to make of it. 'Does he not want me around?' she wondered at first, but she quickly dismissed the thought. For the last several missions, he had selected her to join him. 'He mentioned something about my trips to Rukongai. Maybe he is filling my time so that I cannot make it there?' She found that reason suspect as well: 'Why would he care?' She then wondered if it had something to do with her relationship with Byakuya. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the nobleman's name, and she quickly abandoned the line of thought.

It had been three days since she last saw Byakuya. He had been called away for a family "retreat." She had been skeptical about the timing. He, however, had promised to meet her when he returned.

"Is everything okay, Miss Hisana? You are blushing." Kiyone's voice broke through her cloud of thoughts.

Upon hearing the question's high-pitched lilt, Hisana straightened and turned her attention to Kiyone. "Everything is quite alright. Thank you for asking," she murmured, dipping her head down to speak more privately with Kiyone. "Now, what, exactly, is expected of me?"

"It's simple, Miss Hisana. You go to Academy's front entrance, and one of the event planners will instruct you where to go. Here is this packet. It contains the approved information and discussion points." Eagerly, Kiyone stuffed the thick packet into Hisana's hands.

"Approved?" Hisana echoed, not quite understanding what "approved information" entailed.

"You know…non-classified information."

Hisana's brows bent in a skeptical look. She highly doubted that the definition of "approved" was so straightforward. She had learned long ago that nothing in Soul Society was what it first appeared to be. This was no different.

"When do I need to be at the Academy?"

"In an hour."

Hisana nodded her head. "Thank you." She bowed slightly before pivoting on the ball of her heel toward her office. Upon reaching her desk, she paused to find two delicately fashioned envelopes. Thick crimson-colored wax sealed both letters, and she could make out the distinct impressions of family crests. She stared at the seals for a few moments. From her position standing over the desk, she could not discern enough detail in the wax to know which family crests marked the seals, but she had a sinking feeling that at least one of them was the Kuchiki shield.

"Good morning, Hisana," Miyako called from the door leading to the training fields. Her cheeks were pink from exercise, and a few stray strands of hair escaped her low ponytail. Miyako was in the process of affixing her Zapakuto to her hakama-himo when she spied Hisana from across the room.

There was a knowing look about her. Hisana was not sure whether it was the slightly raised brows or the quirky smile that lingered on Miyako's lips. Also, Hisana was not certain whether Miyako's look was approving or captious. Either way, Hisana took a step back from her desk as if a snake had suddenly manifested in the middle of it.

"Those letters came for you early this morning." Miyako smiled pleasantly. "One is from the Sixth."

Hisana's lips sloped into a frown. "The Sixth?" she nearly choked on the words.

"You look shocked," Miyako observed sweetly, "Is everything alright?"

Absently, Hisana's gaze drifted to the letters. "Are you sure it was not meant for someone else?"

Miyako shook her head. "It is addressed to you expressly." Again, Miyako's lips lengthened into a peculiar half-smile. "I hear you have business with the Sixth," she teased softly.

Hisana could feel her color rise at the implication. "Indirectly, perhaps," she mumbled, averting her gaze back to the letters.

"The other letter is from Lady Kokiden."

Hisana's eyes widened. She felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. The electric tingle of fraying nerves sparked under her skin. "What?" she coughed out in a strangled breath.

"I assume that is also related to your indirect business at the Sixth?" The quirky half-smile lengthened into a full-blown grin. Miyako cocked her head to the side as she observed the squirming Fifth Seat.

Hisana folded her arms against her chest, trying to protect herself from Miyako's amused look. "What does that mean?"

"Your scene at the Summer Festival has caused quite a _stir_ among _everyone_."

The lines of Hisana's face hardened into a grimace. Days before Rangiku had said something similar. At the time, the operative word had been "buzz." Everyone was buzzing then. Now, they were stirring. Between the buzzing and stirring, she wondered how anyone managed to get any work done.

"You are a polarizing force, Hisana. The Shinigami from Rukongai are beside themselves, and the nobility want blood."

Hisana lifted her head. Miyako was a noble. Briefly, she pondered which side Miyako had taken. She did not seem particularly upset. Amused? Yes. Probably too amused for Hisana's liking. "Oh," Hisana murmured.

Miyako giggled. "You look shocked!"

"I suppose I don't understand why anyone would care."

Miyako's eyes widened to the size of half-dollars. "You cannot be so callous, Hisana!"

Hisana shook her head, uncomprehending. No one paid much attention to the romantic lives of Shinigami. Until now. Apparently.

"He is the heir apparent to one of the Five Noble Families. He will be the head of the Kuchiki Family in time. The woman that he selects as a wife will be the Lady of that family. She will be akin to royalty here."

Hisana gave Miyako a sidelong gaze. She understood the weight of her actions; she merely wanted to deny any of the implications. "My apologies," she murmured, lowering her head.

"Don't apologize, Hisana," Miyako chastised, "if you are the one that he selects then you are going to have to toughen up."

Hisana's mouth opened in shock. She had not been expecting those words. Indeed, she had steeled her mind from the very thought that he could choose her as a wife. She was not wife-material. She was not even sister-material. She was barely Shinigami-material.

"You look shocked. Is that not what you desire?" Miyako folded her arms against her chest, mirroring Hisana. She now appeared just as confused as Hisana felt. Obviously, the Third Seat had _assumed_ that Hisana desired to become Lady Kuchiki. Suddenly, Hisana wondered if _everyone_ had come to that conclusion. She was not politically ambitious nor was she a social climber. She merely wanted to carve out a nice _peaceful_ existence among the rubble of her life.

Shaking her head, Hisana mouthed her horror at the countless unspoken assumptions. "I don't think that is a possibility. I am a nobody from nowhere."

"I don't think Sir Byakuya Kuchiki thinks that or cares. From what I hear, he is very headstrong."

Red marks shrieked Hisana's cheeks, and she glanced down diffidently. It was true. He was very willful. For some strange reason, she admired that quality in him. He was so steady and certain; he had an uncanny ability of making everything seem so rational. Even their relationship.

Miyako chuckled at Hisana. "If you need anything—advice, help, a drink—let me know."

Hisana smiled at the woman. "Thank you," she said, bowing.

"Now, open Lady Kokiden's letter. I have been dying to know what she wrote."

Hisana did as commanded, plucking the small missive from the desk. Nimbly, she balanced the thin envelope between her index and middle fingers. She quickly broke the wax seal and withdrew the letter. The paper had a wonderful texture, and it smelled of sandalwood.

"How pretentious," Miyako murmured, drawing close to Hisana. Both women bent over the letter; their eyes eagerly read each character. Hisana shook with each line. By the time she had finished reading the letter, the paper fluttered violently in her hands. "Stop. I am not done," Miyako said, placing a conciliatory hand against Hisana's wrist. Her warm touch steadied Hisana's hand.

"What is this?" Kaien asked, crossing the threshold to the room.

Hisana startled, and Miyako merely lifted her head. Gently, Miyako took the letter from Hisana, and she gave Hisana a small bow of her head as if to say, "I will handle this." Hisana obliged, nodding.

"Good morning, Vice Captain," Miyako said in a measured voice as she moved toward her desk.

Remembering her manners, Hisana fumbled over a greeting: "I am… Forgive my… G-go-good morning, Vice Captain Shiba."

His brow furrowed upon observing her frazzled state. "Is everything OK?" he asked, turning to Miyako.

Miyako gracefully kneeled into seiza. She smiled, "Yes, Vice Captain. We were just discussing how Hisana should handle unrequited love." Kaien looked stunned. He was just about to mouth out the word "what" when Miyako continued, "Yes. It appears that one of Hisana's men has developed a small crush on her. It can never be, of course. So I was advising her on how to let him down gently."

Kaien looked over at Hisana. Disbelief clouded his eyes. And, for a moment, Hisana's anxiety melted into a steady offense. 'Does he not think that men are capable of finding me attractive?' she wondered to herself. Realizing that she was taking umbrage at something so trifling, she giggled.

Kaien placed a palm against his neck as if his muscles had gone stiff from irritation. "Give me the name, and I will handle it."

"No," Hisana gasped before Miyako had the chance to run interference. Why was everyone so ready to "handle" her problems for her? Miyako and now Kaien. "I mean, thank you so much, Vice Captain Shiba. But, I think this is a very _delicate_ matter that could easily lend itself to much embarrassment. If you, a man he respects so much, speak to him about the matter then he may feel foolish."

"He is foolish," Kaien stated matter-of-factly.

Fighting the urge to gape at his harsh words, Hisana waved her hand in front of her face. "This is my trouble, and I don't want to burden anyone else with it," she quickly retorted.

He lifted his head and gazed down at her. He had an incredulous glint in his eye, and, briefly, she wondered if he had discerned that the story of unrequited love was just an elaborate ruse. "I understand," he said after a long pause.

Hisana nodded her head and offered him a sweet smile. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

Kaien glanced down at her. "Did Kotetsu tell you about the tour?" he asked quietly.

Hisana nodded. "Yes, I will be going soon. Is there anything else?"

His gaze met hers for a moment before he wavered. There was something amiss, she mused. A guarded look made his features inscrutable. 'So strange,' she thought to herself. She wondered what was troubling him. "No," he murmured, meeting her gaze; this time he did not relent. "You need to train more," he stated bluntly, "Tomorrow."

His words warmed Hisana. Or, was it his look? She was not sure. But, there was something about him that pierced her. Training her features into a look of calm repose, she forced a small smile. "Tomorrow," she echoed.

Kaien then turned to Miyako. "We have a matter to attend to," he said to her. His expression softened as he spoke to his Third Seat. She perked up and met his look with a gentle smile.

Trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible, Hisana glanced down at her desk. The remaining letter pulled her eye, taunting her. It looked strangely out of place on her desk next to the stacks of form letters and memoranda. The letter provided a little grace to the ordered chaos of the other papers. Unable to resist the urge, she took the missive in her hands and broke the seal. Greedily, her eyes consumed every stroke of every gracefully penned character. The words came to her in isolation. She understood the individual parts without comprehending the whole. It was as if her brain had gone numb from anticipation. Dumbly, she stared into the cypress, hoping that the spell would break.

When it did, she nearly swooned at the scandal of it all.

Shakily, she leaned down, placing her trembling hands on the smooth wood of her desk. Carefully, she guided herself to a seated position. Suddenly, everything felt so amplified. She could feel the skin of her face burn. Her heart pounded so hard that she could feel the blood rush to her head, pound in her ears, and pulsate in her throat. In fact, she swore she could taste the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth. Even her vision went temporarily blurry.

"Hisana!" Miyako called, worriedly.

Miyako's sweet voice cut through the heady fog that clouded Hisana's mind. Hisana swallowed and inhaled a deep breath. Feeling her lungs expand to full capacity, she exhaled an equally deep breath. "I am sorry. I have not been feeling myself," she murmured, quickly stuffing the letter into her desk before anyone could identify it as the cause of her sudden turmoil.

When Kaien reached her desk, he quickly pulled her to her feet. "Do we need to send for a member of the Fourth?"

Hisana shook her head. "I just need some fresh air. The tour will…"

Anticipating her response, Kaien interrupted, "No," he stated firmly, "you need to rest. You look terrible. I should have sent you to the infirmary long ago."

Hisana continued to shake her head. "No, Vice Captain. Let me complete my duties today, and I will go to the Fourth. I promise it can wait."

He looked unconvinced. "I…"

Miyako crossed the room and took to Hisana's side. Tenderly, she put an arm around Hisana's shoulders and drew the petite woman toward her. "I will escort Hisana to the Academy. If she is not better by the time we reach the gates, I will take her to the Fourth."

Miyako's calm words seemed to placate Kaien, at least, temporarily. "I don't know," he murmured after a pregnant pause. "She looks so terrible."

"Hey," Hisana cried, "I _am_ in the room!"

Kaien's stoic expression broke; a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head at Hisana before turning his attention to Miyako. "Take care of her."

Miyako nodded. "Yes, Vice Captain." Gently, she led Hisana out of the office. The Third Seat continued to brace Hisana against her side as the two of them continued toward the Academy. Silence fell over them, and Hisana wondered what Miyako was thinking. The woman appeared so pensive, but it was a troubled contemplation. A dark shadow seemingly fell over Miyako's eyes as she continued to move forward with small measured steps.

"How are you feeling?" Miyako asked after a few tense moments.

Hisana's head bobbed up at the question. "Better. Is everything alright? You seem upset."

Miyako waved her hand in front of her face as if she was swatting the very idea away. "I am fine. Better than fine, actually," she said, glancing down at Hisana.

Hisana could detect a slight change in Miyako's countenance. The woman's cheeks had turned a pale shade of pink, and Hisana wondered if Miyako was thinking of Kaien. "You like him, no?"

Miyako startled at the question. She batted her eyes a few times as if to dispel the implication from her thoughts. "What?" she asked, embarrassed. Her once pale pink cheeks blossomed into a bright red color.

Hisana smiled, knowingly. "You two look appealing together."

Miyako turned her head at the compliment. "I don't know if he fancies me," she said, gazing into the middle distance as the two continued on the path through the market.

"I think he does," Hisana said sweetly. "He always looks so nervous around you."

"He always looks nervous around _you_. He seems calm around me."

Hisana tilted her head to the side, and, for a second, she detected a look of envy ghost across Miyako's face. "He thinks that I am on the verge of death," Hisana joked, "I think that would put anyone on edge."

Miyako's expression softened as she looked down at Hisana. She wanted very much to believe those words. "Yes, I suppose you have not been in the best health lately."

"And, Kaien hates to lose men. It seems to cut him deeply."

Miyako nodded. "He is very protective of all of the members of his squad."

"Too protective. I worry about that."

"Me too. He can't save everyone."

Hisana smiled and glanced down at the cobblestones beneath her feet.

"You read Captain Kuchiki's letter?" Miyako asked perceptively.

Reflexively, Hisana's head popped up. "How did you know it was Captain Kuchiki?"

Miyako grinned at Hisana knowingly. "His handwriting is very distinctive," she explained, "Did he invite you to tea?"

Seemingly, the letter flew into her mind's eye. She could read each character; the words burned into her unconscious mind, leaving an indelible memory. "Yes," she said after a few long heartbeats, "how did you know?"

Miyako looped her arm through Hisana's arm, and she lowered her head toward Hisana's. "It is customary," she whispered.

A look of quiet desolation crossed Hisana's face. "I see."

"You have to accept in kind."

Distantly, Hisana nodded her head. "Of course."

"Don't be nervous."

Hisana stirred against Miyako; her whole body protested the advice. "Captain Kuchiki is not the most inviting soul," she said softly.

Miyako sighed; her lips spasmed as she considered having tea with Captain Kuchiki. Even with her relative status as a noble, Miyako had to admit that such a prospect seemed daunting. Ginrei Kuchiki cut such a cool figure that she wondered if anything truly pleased the man. "Well, I suppose that is true." Miyako grimaced at her own words and at the effect that they had on her poor Fifth Seat.

Hisana prickled. "This will end poorly."

Miyako perked a well-defined brow. "I don't think tea would go well for _anyone_ considering the circumstances. He is evaluating you for the position of Lady Kuchiki. I don't think anyone could possibly stack up to his memory of the late Lady Kuchiki."

"Did he love her?"

Miyako laughed. "I am not _that old_!" she teased.

Hisana chuckled into the sleeve of her uniform. "Many apologies."

"Actually, I don't know anything about the former Lady Kuchiki. I know that Captain Kuchiki adored his daughters. I always assumed that he loved his daughters because they reminded him of his wife. But, that is just speculation on my part."

"How is his relationship with Sir Byakuya?"

Miyako's eyes widened at the informal manner in which Hisana referred to Byakuya. She smiled at Hisana and shook her head. "You are rather close to Sir Byakuya Kuchiki, aren't you?"

Hisana quickly averted her gaze to the ground, hoping to hide her embarrassment. "I suppose."

"Don't be shy about it," Miyako laughed. "No one could tell me anything if I managed what you have," she said. "But, as for your question, I think Captain Kuchiki loves his grandson, but there is tension. Always has been. Sir Kuchiki is more temperamental than Captain Kuchiki. When their approaches clash, however, Sir Kuchiki capitulates out of admiration for Captain Kuchiki."

Hisana considered Miyako's words. Quietly, she meditated on the significance of such a relationship. Sadness pelted her heart. 'It must be hard squelching a flame.' Part of her hoped that Byakuya never became as remote as Ginrei.

Upon reaching the Academy's entrance, Miyako turned to Hisana, "Are you feeling better?"

Hisana smiled her reply and bowed. "Thank you for everything," she said softly.

When she reached the entrance proper, an assistant quickly filed her into a line of bright-faced Shinigami. "Now you all read the materials, right?" a strict-looking Academy instructor asked, pacing the line.

Hisana made a face that quickly betrayed her guilt. The instructor, however, did not notice her. 'I feel like I am a student again,' she thought to herself.

"When I assign you your groups, take a route opposite of the proceeding group. We don't need a pile up. Here is a list of venues that you _must_ show the new students."

A teaching assistant quickly distributed the list. Upon receiving the thin piece of paper, Hisana glanced down at the Areas to Be Visited. They were all tame and expected.

"You may tour them through your own divisions if your captain permits, but nowhere else." He then looked each guide in the eye. Hisana swallowed hard when his fiery gaze met hers. "Understood?"

"Yes," the Shinigami murmured in unison.

"Good," he said before turning to his assistants. Like a well-coordinated assembly line, the assistants quickly assigned seven students to each tour guide.

Hisana bowed politely upon meeting her group of bright-eyed students. The regional divide was already in full swing. The four students of noble birth clumped together, and the three students from Rukongai huddled close. A huge gap of space separated the two groups. Hisana suspected that the nobles had imposed the segregation. They stood so calm and collected in comparison to their counterparts. The students from Rukongai looked anxious—like their self-esteem had taken a substantial hit. Hisana remembered that feeling when she first arrived. She felt like a frightened mouse, keeping to herself and refusing to make friends out of fear that she was Not Good Enough. It was stupid then, and it was stupid now.

Fighting back the urge to chastise the nobles, she forced a smile and introduced herself, "Greetings, my name is Hisana, and I am the Fifth Seat of the Thirteenth Division."

At the sound of her name, the nobles immediately stopped their chatter and stared at her, stricken. "Hisana of the Thirteenth?" one of them parroted back to her.

She smiled and nodded her head. "Yes," she said.

"Of the South 78th?" It was a female noble. She appeared to be in her late adolescence. Her limbs were long and gangly like an adolescent, but her face was beginning to lose the baby-fat associated with childhood.

At the announcement, the students from Rukongai perked up and offered Hisana a small smile. A flicker of hope caught in their eyes.

"It seems like someone has done their homework," Hisana's tone dropped a few octaves, and her brows lowered, giving her face a stern look.

The noble female crossed her arms in front of her chest, and she frowned at Hisana. Hisana could tell that she wanted to ask another question, but her better judgment stopped her.

"Are there any other questions before we make our way to the marketplace?" Calmly, Hisana's gaze drifted to each of the seven faces that stared back at her. The four nobles watched her with a cautious look, as if she were some sort of poisonous snake. The students hailing from Rukongai appeared more confident, and they shifted toward Hisana. Their looks betrayed their inner thoughts: _She is like us. She is a seated officer. Maybe things won't be so bad for us._

Sensing that no one was going to ask any more questions, she moved in the direction of the marketplace. "The market is where you can purchase sundry items. It is also the central hub where many of the festivals take place." She glanced behind her to find that the Rukongai students had moved ahead of the nobles. The nobles suddenly looked _miserable_. Hisana guessed that they probably knew where the market was.

Passing through the market, she headed in the direction of the Seventh, conveniently skipping the Sixth. One of the nobles, however, had discerned her diversion. "Are we not going to visit the Sixth?" This time, it was one of the male students.

Hisana glanced behind her. "We will on our way back. It will break up the trek." It was probably the feeblest prevarication that she had ever constructed, which was saying a lot as a former member of the Second where lying was her _job_.

Feeling the urge to thread through the lull in the crowded marketplace, Hisana grimaced as she retrained herself. She could not move so quickly with the group in tow. They would be lost for sure. Sidestepping, she directed one of the Rukon students toward the Seventh, and she paused, making sure that the group remained intact.

The foot-traffic was heavy, and it seemingly took hours to move a few paces as a group. She heaved an inaudible sigh as she waited. Patience was not her forte, she hated to admit. 'Center yourself,' she rebuked herself, 'or your agitation will become known to the students.' Inhaling a deep breath, she stared drowsily into the crowd. A throng of faceless moving souls scurried to and fro. She was just about to fall into the back of the line when she caught the sight of a familiar face. Instinctively, her posture became ramrod straight and her heart skipped a beat.

"Sir Byakuya," she murmured under her breath. She crooked her neck to see the noble speaking with a male cousin. Behind him stood a few female cousins, including the wife of the cousin that had his attention. Likely feeling her gaze, he looked up to see her. A spark of recognition lit his face, and he stared at her despite maintaining a dialogue with his cousin.

Hisana smiled at him for a moment before realizing that she was in charge of a group of students. She quickly averted her gaze to the students. To her horror, they had stopped, and they were staring at her. Or, at least, she was fairly certain that they were staring at her.

Helplessly, she glanced back at Byakuya, who seemingly had realized that she was somehow linked to the group of youths. He excused himself from his cousin and wound his way over to speak to her. When he neared, she quickly bowed her head, ready to explain the situation.

"You are Academy students," he said, ignoring Hisana for the moment.

The nobles all looked a cross between stunned and amused. Hisana smiled widely, repressing the urge to shudder at the awkwardness of it all. Quickly remembering that the students from Rukongai likely had no idea who Byakuya was, she bowed in Byakuya's direction, signaling his importance in the scheme of things. "Thank you, Sir Kuchiki." She then turned to the group. "Students, this is Sir Kuchiki, heir to one of the Five Noble Families." Her voice trembled ever so slightly, and her gaze fell to the cobblestones.

In unison, the group bowed.

Byakuya glanced down at Hisana. Tenderly, he placed a hand against her shoulder, seemingly commanding her to rise. Hisana glanced up at him; her cheeks flushed, and her gaze wavered under the weight of his. Reflexively, she turned her head. The angle of her face and her thick lashes shielded her eyes from him. "You should visit the Sixth," he said, turning to the students.

Hisana looked up at him with wide eyes. Apprehension gripped her, and her disquiet became apparent to Byakuya within moments. "I will escort you," he said, sounding surprisingly genial. The students responded with a quiet roar of excitement.

"Sir Kuchiki, you don't have to trouble…" Byakuya silenced her with a stern gaze, and she quickly capitulated. "Thank you so much," she said, bowing.

He had a stride on her before she straightened. Quickly, she picked up the pace and drew to his side. Minding the students in her periphery, she glanced up at him questioningly. Her lips parted as if to question his motives. The words, however, never came. Instead, she just stared into the side of his face. He refused to meet her gaze, but she could tell that her fraying wits amused him greatly. He rarely saw her so flustered.

"You should probably say something," he whispered down to her, keeping his eyes trained on the crowd. Hisana's expression softened at his words, and a gentle smile cracked her pale lips. "Of course," she said, turning toward the gaggle of students trailing behind them.

"The Sixth Division is headed by Captain Kuchiki, who is also the 27th head of the noble Kuchiki Family. The Sixth is known for its strong commitment to law and order. It is one of the most principled squads of the Gotei 13." Hisana scrutinized the students as she spoke. The ones from Rukongai appeared attentive. They made eye contact, and they appeared interested in the information that she provided. The nobles, on the other hand, clustered close together and spoke intensely in hushed voices. As much as Hisana wanted to dislike the nobles' behavior, she realized that the tour must have been incredibly boring for them. They had grown up in Seireitei. Likely, they knew more about some of the divisions than she did.

As they approached the Sixth, the guards immediately recognized Byakuya and began to release the gate. However, they appeared dumbfounded by the retinue behind him. "Touring Academy students?" one of the guards called down to Hisana. The man quickly looked to Byakuya, wondering if directing the question to Hisana had bothered the noble. Byakuya glanced up, but he did not appear to take umbrage.

Hisana glanced up, "Yes," she responded sweetly. The guard smiled at the students as if remembering his youth.

Pausing mid-lurch, one of the Sixth's seated officers turned his attention to Byakuya and Hisana. "Sir Kuchiki," he murmured, bowing politely. He then acknowledged Hisana with a friendly smile, "Academy students?"

She nodded.

"Let me have the pleasure of showing them around the place," he said eyeing Byakuya and Hisana knowingly.

"Oh, I don't…"

"I won't hear it. Plus, you don't know all the good _secrets_," he said kindly, moving toward the students. "Follow me," he said to them. Waving his arm for them to follow, he assumed point position, and the seven trailed closely behind.

Hisana's lips twitched. "I think that I may be breaking some rules," she said under her breath.

Catching her statement, Byakuya looked down at her, amused. "What rules?" he asked, dipping his head down toward hers.

She blushed at the suddenness of his attention. "Something about not touring other divisions and something about only disseminating 'approved' information."

Looking at her, his expression softened. "Is that true?"

"There was a seventy page _instructional_ manual."

He smiled. "I remember those. They are not binding," he quipped. After a few moments, he angled his head toward hers and whispered, "But there may be an actual rule about not refusing a noble's request."

Realizing that he was referring to his request to take the students on a tour of his family's division, Hisana chuckled. "I could never refuse you," she said, smiling so wide that her eyes squeezed shut.

A pleasant expression softened the lines of his face as he watched her.

Catching his glance, she smiled warmly at his indulgence. "I am glad to see you," she said softly. Upon hearing her words, she immediately stiffened and rebuked herself for her carelessness. How could she speak so familiarly to him? She was in hostile territory; she was certain. Hisana did not know how she had come to delineate the "hostile" from "friendly" territories, but she had a _system_. The Thirteenth was friendly…mostly. The Rukon Districts were friendly. Everywhere else—even her beloved bridge and especially the Sixth Division—was a hostile place. She had decided to err on the side of caution. Except right then when she spoke her heart. That sort of speech was expressly forbidden in hostile areas. They were to pretend that they were strangers in the hostile areas. Didn't he know the rules? she wondered to herself. As she considered the question, she concluded that he likely did not know the rules, seeing as he had broken them by acknowledging her in the marketplace. On second thought, she probably should have told him about her system…

He glanced down at her. "I missed you."

Her face brightened at his words. "How was your retreat?" Again, she broke her own code. Inwardly, she cringed before resolving to revise the _system_ when she completed her duties for the day.

"It was," he paused, glancing up into the distance. For a moment, Hisana wondered if he had spotted someone of importance, but he continued, "It was _unremarkable_."

Hisana was fairly sure "unremarkable" was code for "human rights violation." "Oh," she murmured, watching his once gentle expression blacken. "I am sorry about that."

He shook his head. "It is always unremarkable." He still had the faraway look in his eye, giving him an air of remoteness. His family was a constant source of aggravation for him. Any time she inquired about them, his expression would sour, and he reverted into himself as if the mere thought of them proved too intolerable to bear.

Hoping to lift his spirits, she gazed up at him with wide gleaming eyes. She had so much to say. She had so much to ask him about his trip. She wanted to know every little mundane detail. She wanted to hear him speak to her for hours on end—to make up for the time they lost while he was away. She, however, restrained herself with a smile.

He returned his attention to her. Impassively, he opened his mouth to ask her a question, but the seated officer, who was escorting the students back to the front gate, interrupted him.

"And, now, I hand you back to the Thirteenth's lovely Fifth Seat," he declared in a breezy voice.

Hisana took a step forward to retrieve the students. She gave them a quick onceover, making sure that no one had run away. All seven were accounted for. "Thank you," she said, bowing to the Sixth's Fourth Seat.

Before Hisana could address her students, the Fourth Seat cut in, "Miss Hisana, Captain Kuchiki requests that I inquire as to whether you received his letter."

She froze. Every muscle in her body locked in rigid tension. Even her heart stopped beating. "Yes," she rasped out through the breath that had hitched in her throat. "I gladly accept his invitation. I will respond in kind this afternoon."

The Fourth Seat smiled politely. "Very good," he said to her, but his gaze drifted to Byakuya. The smile slipped from his lips as he observed the noble.

Hisana followed the officer's gaze to see a look of confusion creasing Byakuya's face. 'He does not know?' she wondered. He looked like he was in the middle of solving a particularly complex riddle. 'He is calculating probabilities,' she mused, nodding in his direction.

"Thank you, Sir Kuchiki, for your hospitality," Hisana said, giving a shallow bow in his direction. Certain that she had bowed the appropriate amount of times, she turned to the students.

"Thank you, Sir Kuchiki," the students murmured in a soft cacophony; their words overlapping and largely incoherent. Each of them bowed. The nobles bowed a little lower and with a little more reverence than the students from Rukongai did. Byakuya, however, was so caught up in his own thoughts that he paid the students no heed. Hisana smiled back at him as the group stepped through the division gates.

. . . .

When she finally returned to the Thirteenth, night was beginning to creep across the streets of Seireitei. The office was empty, and she quickly took to her desk. Setting her inkstone and brush out, she began to draft a response to Captain Kuchiki's request for tea.

Ten drafts later, she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She really should have taken her penmanship classes more seriously. His handwriting was so _perfect_. Any perceivable flaws merely enhanced the aesthetic of the character. She wanted to cry. Even the paper was a _perfect_ and _tasteful_ choice.

She felt like she was in over her head now. 'He knows that I am peasant,' she thought to herself. 'He will be pleased that I can even read.' But, that was not true. If it was as Miyako intimated, there was some _expectation_ that she was vying for the title of Lady Kuchiki. She was not, though. Being Lady of any House had never been her dream. But, at the same time, she did not want to embarrass Byakuya with her coarse upbringing.

'Why?' she thought miserably. 'Why couldn't he be a peasant, too? This would make things easier. He would not have a family proper if a family at all. No one would care about his choice of companion. There would be no formal courtship, and there would be no talk of marriage.' At the thought, she chuckled. 'I wonder if he wishes something similar about me?' If she were a betting woman, she would have put her money on "yes." How could he not? Things would be easier for him if she was of noble birth.

But, she was a noble… Or, rather, she had been a noble. At some point in her life, things had been much easier. She had not been brought up in a coarse fashion. In fact, she was aware of many of the aristocracy's customs even if she was sorely out of practice. Not that anyone knew that.

She sighed. She was a peasant now. There was no use in reminiscing about the past. She picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and drafted another response. It looked better, she thought to herself. Regardless, the eleventh draft of her letter would have to do if the response was going to be timely. She set the paper aside to dry, and she began fashioning an envelope. She was quite proud of the way she wrote his title and name. It looked _good_. She smiled, and she inhaled a breath.

"You are still here?" Kaien asked from across the room.

Hisana startled. 'I must have been so distracted that I did not even sense him nearby.' Immediately remembering her manners, she bowed her head, "Good evening, Vice Captain. Yes, I had a few matters to attend to before I left."

He glanced at her desk, seeing the pile of crumpled papers. She wondered if he found her crazy; if he did, he made no mention. A look of concern, however, did bend his brow. "Are you feeling better?" he asked skeptically.

She nodded. "Some. I just need to get my stamina back," she said.

"Having problems drafting a report?" His gaze lingered on the pile of spent paper.

She smiled and averted her gaze to the wrinkled papers. "I suppose it is obvious."

"Do you need help?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Oh, no, Vice Captain. It is nothing that you should trouble yourself with," she said, fighting back the urge to sweep the pile of letters off her desk and into the trash.

He stared at her, amused. "You sure everything is OK?" he said, placing a hand against the doorframe.

"Yes," she said, smiling widely.

"Training at 0600," he said. His eyes narrowed under raised eyebrows, "So get some rest before then."

She swallowed. Hard. "Yes, sir," she said, lowering her head. When she looked back up at him, he was gone.

Turning to her letter and envelope, she folded the paper in half and gently placed it in the envelope. She then cleared her desk, and, standing, she wound her way to the mailroom. "One last letter," she said to the tired mail boys.

Seeing who it was, they perked up. The one closest to her took her letter. Reading the address, he smiled wolfishly. "The Sixth?" The mail boys gave each other knowing looks—looks that seemingly said, 'So it is _true_.'

Impassively, she stared at him. "Yes," she said in a cool deadpan.

He nodded his head. "I'll take it," he announced to his colleagues.

"You took the last one!" one of them cried.

"Yeah! I want to take this one! I have never been to the Sixth!"

Hisana ducked out of the room, hoping that the men wanted to take the letter to stave off boredom and _not_ for _any other_ reason. When she hit the path leading to her quarters, she began devising a plan for the evening. She would change into a thin yukata, and she would hightail it to Inuzuri. Once in Inuzuri, she would eat dinner (it was cheaper there) and spend a few hours searching for her sister. Afterwards, she would then settle down at the 12th's library until 12-o'-clock a.m. where she would then leave to bathe and go to bed.

A wrench was tossed into her plans, however, the moment she peeled back the door to her tiny room. She saw the letter instantly. It sat innocuously on her small black lacquer desk. She shut the door behind her, and she paced around her desk too nervous to open it. Given her track record with letters, she rightly did not want to open it. But, it looked so tempting with a red ribbon and red wax seal. And, it was in her room. It was likely a personal matter.

"You can do this," she chastised herself. It was ridiculous, really. She was going to open the letter at some point. Why torment herself over something so trifling? She already had enough fuel to torment herself 10 times over.

Sighing, she dropped to the floor in front of her desk. With a flick of her wrist, she broke the seal and plucked the letter out of the envelope. Fine calligraphy distracted her to the point where she had trouble reading. She then pressed the paper against her chest, and she smiled. A wide closed-eye-type of smile. She had never been so happy to entertain such a plan-ruining request in her entire life. "Of course, I will."

. . . .

Rukongai never slept. That had always amused her. Unlike Seireitei, the souls that roamed the districts had very little spiritual power. A lack of spiritual power freed the soul from the urge to sleep or eat. Hisana envied that about them. If she had not been so _exhausted_ and _hungry_, she would have never abandoned her sister to the harsh streets.

Perched high in a tree overlooking one of the many markets in Inuzuri, Hisana watched the proceedings from afar. She could see enough detail to know whether her sister was there. A balmy breeze tugged at her kimono and played in her hair.

Rukia was not there nor was Rukia's fiery redheaded friend, Renji. Hisana had fought long and hard for that information. She was relieved that Rukia had kept the name bestowed upon her those many years ago. It made things _much_ easier. The fact that the sisters looked so similar also worked in Hisana's favor. On several occasions, she was mistaken for Rukia. When it happened, it was usually an angry shopkeeper wishing great harm upon her. Hisana could easily deflect the random attacks, which usually garnered an apology, or, at least, a look of realization that she was, in fact, _not _Rukia. Apparently, Rukia was an accomplished pickpocket and thief.

Hisana smiled at some of the memories.

She had seen Rukia a time or two. But, the young girl always seemed to slip away at the last minute. If nothing else, the missed opportunities proved her sister was alive and well. It also proved that Rukia was cunning.

Hisana descended from the tree, and she began to weave her way through the bustling market. She never kept much on her person, and she always dressed in the most threadbare items she could find. Ugly muted greys and browns adorned her. She wanted to _blend in_. Quickly, she crossed the pitted road to her favorite food cart. Cao manned the cart that day. He had a hard exterior, but he had proven to be quite helpful. She stopped in front of the cart.

Her eyes gleamed hopefully as she caught his gaze. "No, squirrel today." It had become his code for news about Rukia. Either he was serving squirrel or not. No squirrel meant no news; the squirrel special meant that he had seen her or knew of a vendor that had blood in his eye over her thievery.

Hisana tucked her chin down. "My usual then," she said softly.

"A girl like you should never look that sad," he said, handing her a small cardboard boat containing three rice balls.

A small half-grin curved a corner of her mouth up. "You say that because I tip," she retorted wryly.

"I say that because you _pay_," he quipped.

She chuckled. "Not a lot of money in Inuzuri?"

He gave a sad slow shake of his head.

"You don't say?"

He smiled at her. "You always have money," he observed.

"Yeah, but I don't live here anymore," she said over her shoulder.

When she turned to face the direction that her feet took her, she halted. Three angry youths towered over her. Each held some sort of cooking instrument in their hands, and they were toying with the tools as they glared down at her. She smiled politely. "Hello," she said, beginning to sidestep around the boys.

One of them quickly blocked her path. "You stole our whole supply of onigiri for the day."

Hisana smiled. Happiness animated her heart—Inuzuri had spared Rukia for another day. "I think you have the wrong person," she said softly.

"We don't. You and your band of street rats have caused us nothing but trouble."

"Band of street rats?" she echoed. She was so happy to know that Rukia had found a group of _friends_. So happy that she almost missed the windup to an attack. _Almost_. She quickly deflected the attack with her Zanpakuto's sheath.

Realizing that she was armed, shock fell over the threesome. Shock, however, quickly transformed into realization. "You are not the girl," the fattest one muttered.

"I told you that I wasn't," she said sweetly. Before she got all the words out, they had fled. She shook her head, and gazed into the sky. The firmament was darkening. It was time to leave. If she was to prepare for her dinner with Byakuya, she would need to clean herself and change out of her rags. She took off in a flash.

Returning to Seireitei, she quickly bathed near the First then ran back to the Thirteenth. "What to wear?" she asked herself, quickly stripping out of her yukata. Nothing looked appropriate. She owned nothing of value… except…

She spied the lovely purple kimono—Byakuya's kimono. She had never worn it. She then wondered if she had enough time to change into it. She glanced over at the clock on her wall. She had enough time if she hurried, she told herself.

. . . .

Byakuya waited impatiently at the restaurant. She was late. He paced. "Do you think she received the notice?" he asked his body servant.

The young boy nodded his head. "Give it a few more minutes. She is only a few _seconds_ late."

"Perhaps she is not coming," Byakuya said quickly. His whole manner seemed to speed up—from the cadence of his voice to the step in his stride. He looked positively frantic.

The servant shook his head. "_Seconds_. It is considered proper to be a few _minutes_ late. She has womanly things to attend to," he said.

"Womanly things?" Byakuya mimicked. "What does that even _mean_?"

"It takes them _much_ longer to dress. Kimonos are unnecessarily complicated, and they have their hair and makeup to do. It is an ordeal. Trust me, milord. Miss Hisana will arrive shortly."

The explanation pacified Byakuya for a few paces. After his third stride, however, he stopped and turned to his manservant. "She was a member of the Second. They are very punctual at the Second. Maybe she is not coming."

"Do you want me to collect her?" the servant asked intuitively.

"Yes."

Without further hesitation, the servant left his master's side, and Byakuya was alone in the private room. He then wondered if sending the servant out was the most prudent decision. Perhaps she had rejected his invitation?

He was just about to leave when the shoji door drew back to reveal Hisana dressed in the purple kimono. She kneeled behind the door. Shyly, she looked downward. Her eyes glued to the tatami floor.

Byakuya gazed at her in a calm silence. She looked beautiful. She had done everything—her hair, her dress, her makeup—and he had a sinking feeling that she did it to please him and only him. He wondered if anyone had done anything with the singular intention of pleasing him.

Tension and apprehension stiffened her muscles. He could tell that she was beginning to feel exposed and vulnerable. "Enter," he murmured, remembering his manners.

In the proscribed manner, she moved across the floor. Before she could close the door behind her, he caught her thin wrist in his hand. His touch was light but perceptible. Gently, he helped her to her feet, and he slid the door shut.

Her gaze trailed to the floor coyly, and a soft pink color tinted her cheeks. "Good evening," she said in a low breathy voice.

With a gentle touch, he led her to the table. They both sat. Silence draped over them.

He stared at her deeply, hoping that her beauty would inspire words. It had quite the opposite effect. Words seemingly evaporated from his mind.

Quietly, he observed her. She looked unsettled; likely, she was waiting for him to make the first move. But, he could not. His mind had simply purged itself of its vast intelligence. His tongue felt heavy and unwieldy in his mouth. All he could muster the courage to do was stare at her.

She was glancing down into the well-burnished wood of the table. Her long thick lashes obscured her eyes from his view. A thin wisp of a smile lengthened her lips. Shifting under the weight of her own unease, her eyes flitted up, catching his gaze. "Tell me everything about everything," she said softly in an almost sing-song-like cadence. Lifting her chin, the overhead light glinted in her large eyes. "How are your studies for the Ministry going?" The Kuchiki clan was in charge of the Ministry of Recordkeeping for Soul Society. As part of his duty, he had to pass an exam in order to take over Ministry responsibilities from his grandfather.

His gaze trailed to the left. "Well." It was a lie, and he knew that she knew that it was a lie. Hisana had an innate gift for detecting his lies. Her face would screw up, and a knowing smile would curve her lips. When he looked up, she wore a muted version of the I-Know-You-Are-Lying expression.

"You will pass," she said confidently. "Are you going to pursue," she paused, hesitant to finish.

Byakuya watched her with a serene look on his face. He was willing to answer any question she had. The sudden apprehension that passed over her confused him, and then he realized what she was going to ask. "A career with the Central 46 Chambers?" he finished the question. Part of him was shocked that she had remembered. He had mentioned something about the possibility in passing while she was recovering at the Fourth.

Pressing her lips shut, she appeared almost mournful in response. He wondered why. "My grandfather believes it is a viable path for me."

She tilted her head to the side, and she studied him. "It is a noble path," she said softly, "It is a _safer_ path." For an instant, he thought he saw her face soften into a look of approval when she spoke the word "safer."

"It was my father's path," Byakuya murmured, turning his gaze to a nearby wall. Suddenly, he realized why she had appeared so sad—she knew that he did not desire a career in politics.

"Your father? Was not Sir Sōjun Kuchiki the Vice Captain of the Sixth?"

He turned his attention back to her and nodded. "Yes," his expression melted as he recalled a memory of his father, "he never wanted any part of the Sixth Division."

Hisana watched him; her gaze begging him to tell her more about his father. She knew so little about the parts of his family that he seemed to _like_. "I heard that Sir Sōjun Kuchiki was powerful."

"He was," he looked at her, sensing that she earnestly wanted to know more. "He loved politics more than battle." The hesitance that had once steadied Byakuya's voice broke. He could almost see his father's face and hear his father's voice. Staring past Hisana and into his own memories, he continued again; this time his face and manner were less guarded. "My father's face would light up whenever the topic turned to laws. He loved to discuss every nuance of the legislation before the Central 46 Chambers. He could see every argument and he could entertain every side. He would weigh the potential effects of each decision." He paused before adding, "He was more intelligent than I am."

Hisana watched him, silently trying to take in every word and line of his face as he spoke. "You see every side in battle," she said softly. Her comparison was meant to be and was taken as a compliment.

Byakuya glanced over at Hisana, fully seeing her once more. "It is not the same," his voice dropped, "understanding motives in battle is easy."

"Understanding motives in politics is easy, too. Application, however, is always much more complicated."

Byakuya held back a smile. Her kindness warmed him. "My grandfather never gave him the choice. I think he is trying to redress a past wrong with me."

"But, you want to be a member of the division," she said quietly.

His expression softened. "Yes, but after my father's death…"

She lifted her head as to indicate that she understood perfectly. If he did not feel the need to continue, she understood. He was the last of Ginrei's direct line. Neither of Ginrei's daughters had produced children, and Byakuya was his father's only child.

Byakuya stared deeply into Hisana's face. "I have to marry before I can assume my father's rank," he said, softly.

She lifted her head slightly as if he had confirmed her suspicions. He could tell that his words came as no surprise. It seemed so logical, suddenly. Perhaps it always had been. Her expression, however, affirmed his suspicions—that his family's behavior was more prudent than erratic.

"Your family wishes to wed you to Lady Kokiden," Hisana said matter-of-factly.

He flinched ever so slightly under the cool sting of her reflection. Was his family so transparent? No. He assumed that their actions stayed among the nobility. Unless… "Lady Kokiden has reached out to you, no doubt."

Hisana smiled in response. "Yes."

"She sent a letter?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?" A quiet anger bubbled just below his stony façade.

Hisana shifted in her seat. "I no longer possess the letter."

He stared at her.. His look indicated that he would not be satisfied until she gave its location.

"It is with Miyako."

"The Thirteenth's Third Seat?"

Hisana nodded. "She said that she would handle it."

"When did you receive the letter?"

"This morning." Hisana shivered at the recollection. She had never seen beautiful handwriting convey such bitter sentiments. It was rather shocking, but she could understand the woman's distress. If not for Hisana, Lady Kokiden would have secured the title of Lady Kuchiki. Perhaps, she still would?

Byakuya could see Hisana's discomfort. She was a gentle soul—not at all accustomed to the senseless infighting that came part and parcel with nobility. "Did Miyako say how she would handle it?" he asked gently. He knew Miyako's family well enough, but he had every little exposure to Miyako.

Hisana shook her head. "She said that she knew Lady Kokiden. She had offered to give me an introduction before."

"Before when?" he asked, confused. Until then, he had assumed that Hisana was blissfully unaware of his involvement with Lady Kokiden.

"Shortly after I returned to the Thirteenth. I think Lady Kokiden became suspicious of me after she saw us at the Cherry Blossom Festival."

Byakuya's brows furrowed as he tried to recall the meeting. Indeed, Hisana had met Lady Kokiden while in his company. "What did the letter say?"

Hisana grinned. It was a staid sort of grin—the type one employs when the pain is still too fresh to fully articulate. "It was very unpleasant."

"What unpleasant things did she say?"

Hisana shook her head. "Sir Byakuya," she protested, but he stopped her with a stern look. Hisana fisted her hands in the material of her kimono, resigning herself to the horrible truth. Forcing the words out of her mouth, she began, "Lady Kokiden seems very heartbroken. She said that your family had labored very long and hard to find a suitable match, and she believes that she is your best option. She indicated that we could never be because of the current laws. She said that I was wasting your potential the longer that I held onto this relationship. She implored me to sever my ties with you so that you could…" Hisana could not bring herself to complete the sentence. It took every fiber in her chest to repress the sob climbing its way up the back of her throat. The words stung her that morning, and they stung her as she repeated them back to Byakuya. They stung her because she believed them to be true. She was being selfish, and her selfishness was proving detrimental to him.

Lady Kokiden's brazen political play had taken him aback. He assumed that she was capable of making a spectacle of herself, but he had not considered to what extent. He also never suspected that she would show her colors to Hisana. It did not make rational sense. Did Lady Kokiden think that he would not learn of her maneuvering? Did she really think Hisana was so weak?

"She has a point," Hisana said softly, collecting her fragmented emotions.

He gave her a pointed stare and shook his head. "She does not."

Hisana's desolate expression melted into a look of concern. How could he be so stubborn? "Sir Byakuya, there is a _law_."

"There is an inconsequential _rule_."

As soon as Byakuya had his say, the rustle of the shoji door alerted them to the presence of the server. She was a small young thing, dressed in a brightly colored kimono. Gracefully, she shuffled into the room and served them tea. Byakuya and she exchanged a look—a mysterious look—and she quickly scurried out of the room.

"You received another letter today," he observed, softly.

Hisana was quick to fill her mouth with scorching tea. The temporary prickles of pain had a strange soothing effect. Shyly, she gazed at him over the brim of the cup. Setting the cup down, she lowered her head, "I received a letter from you," she said wryly.

He shook his head. All too keen to her diversion. "You received _another_ letter."

A self-satisfied grin turned her lips up. "I did," she said coquettishly, "From Captain Kuchiki." He stared at her as if _willing_ her to elaborate. She took another sip, letting the warmth of the cup infuse her, before responding. "Captain Kuchiki invited me for tea. I assumed you knew." It was a half-lie. Earlier in the day, she had _assumed_ that Byakuya was aware. In fact, she had _assumed_ that Byakuya had been invited. But, after the tour of the Sixth Division, she was certain that he had no idea.

"You responded to his letter?" The way he said the words, it sounded more like a statement.

"Of course," she said. "Teatime is late next week. I take it that you are not coming?"

"No."

"Is there anything you could tell me?"

"Don't embarrass me." Despite his deadpan delivery, Hisana could tell that he was teasing her.

"Sir Byakuya!" She shook her head. "Now, that is not helpful at all." She quickly stifled her giggle with the sleeve of her kimono.

He smiled. "Is there anything I could tell you?" he repeated back to her; this time he seemed more serious in devising an answer. "No."

"Did your mother have tea with Captain Kuchiki when your father was courting her?"

"I wasn't born then," he said. His knowing smile teased her.

Her brows pulled together, and she glanced down into her tea. "I didn't know if you heard any _stories_." Terrible, horrible, humorous—Hisana was hoping that he had heard _something_. Mostly, she wanted to know if his mother had ever blundered under the pressure of it all.

"Stories of tea with my grandfather going _terribly_?" he asked, nearly plucking the thought right out of Hisana's head. Her sudden fit of anxiety amused him. He found it strangely charming.

Hisana gazed up at him. Her eyes were soft and hopeful that he might ply her with words of encouragement. Part of her _knew_ that he would do no such thing.

"No. To my knowledge, my parents' courtship was without incident."

She chained her anxiety with a smile. "How did your parents meet?"

Realizing that she was trying to calm her nerves, Byakuya humored her. "In the usual way." She glared at him, commanding him to continue. A satisfied smile thinned his lips in response. "A nakōdo arranged the match. They married in autumn of that year."

"Did they know each other before then?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No." Reading the worry lines spreading across her face, he continued, "It is not common to _know_ your spouse before marriage."

"Was their pairing a successful one?"

"They produced offspring," he stated offhandedly.

The callous response dissatisfied her. Deeply.

"I never saw them together," he said, glancing up as if trying to recall a distant memory. While his mother had died when he was very young, he still could picture her in his head. It was always the same mental image: The golden light of a falling sun caught in her hair as she stared out the window to her room. She was lost in her own thoughts. As a child, he attributed her longing gazes to thoughts of his father. But, that was not the case. She stared out her window longingly even when Sōjun was in residence.

"She was not well," Byakuya said to himself. It was true. A physician had diagnosed his mother with a nervous disorder. She never seemed to be completely present with anyone.

"My apologies," she said. Contrition blackened her expression. Byakuya could tell that she regretted her question, but it was a valid line of inquiry. She wanted to please him, and she was searching for anecdotal evidence of how to handle his family. He did not hold it against her. Even _he_ did not know how to endure his family at times.

"How was your day?" he asked, digressing.

She glanced up at him. Her eyes wavered hesitantly as if she was struggling to compose herself. "Well."

He stared at her blankly.

"The students were pleasant," she added, quickly. "And then I," she stopped abruptly. A sudden realization washed over her—as if she was about to expose some hidden truth. Instead, she shut her mouth and smiled at him, but he could see something in her eye. Some unfathomable secret lodged deep within her. He had seen that look on her face before, and he had always wanted to ask her what it meant.

"And then you," he repeated back to her in a measured tone.

She shook her head and offered him a conciliatory smile. "I don't want to bore you."

He shot her a probing stare. Without a word, he _insisted _that she continue.

"I return to the 78th sometimes," she said softly.

"The 78th Rukon District?"

She nodded. "Sometimes."

"The West 78th?"

She immediately caught his gaze. He had misunderstood her. "Yes."

"Why?"

"There was something that happened there. Something that I need to sort out." That was not a lie.

"The mission?"

"Yes, something happened after I fell. Something unusual."

His gaze became steely. He did not recall anything particularly unusual, but there was no way of knowing how long she had been unconscious before he arrived. He presumed that she had not been incapacitated very long. He then considered the likelihood that something unusual could have happened in the interim. What exactly did she mean by "unusual"? The mission had bothered him endlessly, but he had managed to shove it out of his mind for the time being.

"You think that I am crazy," she said, smiling through her embarrassment.

He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "You should rest," he said at length. It was his code for telling her to leave it alone. If there was something waiting in the wings, he doubted that she possessed the strength to battle it alone.

She breathed a sigh. "You are right. I should rest."

Under her look of repose, he sensed that his advice irritated her. Likely, she had many people telling her to rest. She still did not look completely restored. Even under her makeup, her skin was pale. Too pale. Her frame looked shrunken, and she seemed to tire easily. He worried about her, and he wondered if she knew that he worried about her in the quiet moments of his day.

The two stared at each other for a few moments. A sweet sedateness lingered in their looks. The room's tranquility, however, was disturbed when the server returned with food. Hisana's posture straightened as she received her dinner. When the server was done, she quietly left the room.

Hisana glanced down and smiled, happily. It was probably the only genuine smile that he had seen her give all evening. "It looks beautiful," she said sweetly.

Quietly, they ate and conversed until the late hours of the night. When it was time to leave, he helped her to her feet, and they crossed the threshold to the private room. His footman quickly stepped forward upon seeing his master. "If Sir Kuchiki wishes, I will escort Miss Hisana to the Thirteenth."

Hisana quickly glanced up, drawing Byakuya's gaze. "I will take her to the Thirteenth. You are dismissed for the night."

The footman bowed deeply before taking his leave. Hisana and Byakuya watched the young man disappear around the corner. "If it is too inconv-" she began.

He silenced her with a look.

She lowered her gaze demurely. "Thank you, Sir Kuchiki, I had a lovely evening." Her cheeks reddened as she spoke.

He bristled at her formality. She seemed so distant suddenly, and he wondered why. Silently, the two wound their way to the streets of Seireitei. Night wrapped them like a heavy veil. The air was thick, and a dense mist obscured the way. Instinctively, Hisana drew closer to his side. She was nearly a hairsbreadth away, and it distracted him.

She looked up at him. Her eyes caught the lantern light, and he could tell that she was happy. "I hear that your family is planning to open another restaurant," she said conversationally.

He nodded his head. "Yes."

"That must be very exciting," she said, meeting his eyes.

He nodded.

Her gaze turned to the road in front of him. She was nervous. He could tell. She resorted to small talk whenever she was nervous. He then realized the cause of her anxiety: they were nearing the Thirteenth's gates. All he had left to discern was the why.

Reaching the gate, she turned to him. Her eyes were wide and bright as she looked up into his face. "Would you like to come in for tea?" she asked hesitantly. Immediately, she turned her cheek as if she was preparing for his refusal.

"Yes."

Her head bobbed up, and a wide smile split her lips. She reflexively smothered the smile with her sleeve. Without a second thought, she took his hand in hers. Her touch was feather light, and her skin was cold. She led him boldly through the streets of the Thirteenth. Her stride was strong and quick.

"It is small," she said softly, almost apologetically, when they arrived at her nondescript quarters. Byakuya knew what barracks looked like. His father had kept a place at the Sixth, and his grandfather still had a room at the Sixth. While his grandfather's apartment was spacious, the Vice Captain quarters was built to standard.

Hisana fumbled with the door for a moment before sliding it open. She waited for him to enter first, before closing the door behind her. Flipping on the light, she moved toward her small table. "Tea," she said softly to herself, but, before she had a stride into the room, he caught the sleeve of her arm, and he pulled her toward him.

With baited breath, she stared up. Their eyes locked for several long moments before he broke the stillness with a kiss. It began chastely and sweet. Feeling her tremble against him, he steadied her by pulling her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. She returned his kiss timidly at first and then with greater urgency. Her hands rested lightly on the tops of his shoulders. But, as he brought her closer, her fingers caught in his dark locks.

Prickles of pain raked across his scalp from her gentle tugs. Feeling the last of his restraints beginning to buckle, he pulled away. Frantically, he searched her face for traces of apprehension. "Are you?"

She nodded. Her eyes bright and reassuring. "Yes," she said in a soft whisper. Her gaze trailed to the side, and she turned her head. With a feather light touch, she ran a finger against the collar of his kimono toward his hakama-himo. Resting near the sash, her eyes flitted up to meet his gaze. He bent his head down and sealed his approval with a kiss.

She closed her eyes, and, careful to regulate her breathing, she untied his sash. He felt her tug at his hakama, and he replied with a few adroit tugs of his own at her obijime and then her obi. It took only a few minutes of fumbling with the layers of clothing before they moved toward her futon.

Byakuya bent his head over hers, trying his hardest to read the expression radiating from her eyes. He was hesitant. Much more hesitant than the time before—shortly before she left for her mission in the 78th. At that time, he was unsure of whether he would ever see her again. It had been reckless.

Gently, Hisana pulled him down to her bed. Her eyes wide and probing as his body relented. He tentatively touched her brow and traced the delicate line of her jaw. He was holding back, and she sensed it. Pulling him closer to her small frame, she kissed him. His last restraint broke, and he let his hands move freely over the thin fabric of her nagajuban, feeling the indentation of her waist and the curve of her hip.

His kisses trailed down her neck where he could hear her breath catch in her throat. Emboldened by her gasp, he gently slid his hand under the garment. He traced the delicate curvature of her ribcage and back before untying the under-kimono. His fingers pulled the robe back.

Hisana gently pulled his face toward hers, and she kissed his mouth. She struggled to loosen his under garment in the tangles of their limbs and the bed linens. He shrugged out of his nagajuban, and pulled her body close. Feeling her warmth, he marveled at just how small and fragile she was. All fine lines and smooth pale skin. She felt so perfect against him.

He rolled her on her back so that he was on top. Tenderly, she reached up and brushed a stray hair from his eyes to behind his ear, and she smiled sweetly up at him. A stray moonbeam caught in her eyes, lighting them in silver. He bent down to kiss her before sliding his hand in between her thin thighs. A hoarse moan escaped her the moment she felt him enter her.

He could feel her shudder under his as if she is in pain. "Are you?" He paused, sure that if he moved a muscle that he would lose control.

She quickly nodded. Her breaths were shallow and ragged. "Please," she whispered.

Inhaling a breath, he continued. She brought him close when she felt the intense pleasure of release, and his body fell shortly after. Clinging to each other, Hisana rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Watching her, he felt a warm bubble of happiness rise in his chest.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked softly against his neck.

He obliged.

. . . .

When Hisana woke the next morning, she stretched her arm out against the futon. Warm sheets. Warm _empty_ sheets. A sense of longing pierced her heart. Reflexively, she pried her eyes open. Her gaze confirmed what her hands had already discerned. Her lover had gone. Golden sunbeams lit the white sheets where he had once rested beside her. "So this is what it feels like," she whispered in a throaty breath.

No nightmares. No death. Just sweet sleep.

Absently, she rolled toward the empty space in her bed. She could still smell him on her pillow. Her heavy eyelids slid down, and she inhaled a deep breath. Her body wanted to sink back into the sweet dreams, but her inner pragmatist woke her up. She had training. She had duties. She had a mystery to unravel.

'Just another 5 minutes,' she thought wearily, curled in the blankets. Her inner do-gooder, however, pestered her awake. Sitting up among the sea of blankets, she glanced over at her small desk, and she cocked her head to the side. Intrigued, she got up and crossed the room to the desk. Glancing down at a sheet of paper, a warm joyous sensation filled her and she smiled.

In beautiful calligraphy, he had penned the word "Heart."


	18. Release

**Chapter 17: Release**

"Release your Zanpakutō." Kaien's voice was soft but there was an edge to it. Seemingly, on command, a breeze picked up. Cold. Sharp. Piercing.

Hisana stood with sword drawn, hesitant. A stubborn flame burned deep within her. Very few souls had seen her release and lived. She preferred to keep it that way.

In a well-rehearsed move, she deflected his attack with her sword, and flashstepped to his back where she was about to release a low-level binding attack. He was quick to parry, and he riposted with stunning speed.

It was a narrow escape.

"Release your _damn_ Zanpakutō." His voice was low and biting.

She stood motionless. Her eyes darkened into a blank unfeeling stare. She was not an obstinate woman by nature, but there was something about his brazen insistence. It kept her still. It locked her body in cold tension. It blackened her thoughts. It deadened her eyes.

She had no doubt that she would release her Zanpakutō at the end. He was too powerful. He was too forceful. He would push her. But, right then, he had not _earned _it. She still had more fight in her.

Flitting out of reach of his sword, she stood poised on a nearby tree branch. He had slashed her black kosode. Thoughtlessly, she shrugged off the torn garment. The stark white shitage against her bleached complexion gave her a wintry look. A cold hard stare caught in her eye as she dropped the kosode near her.

Then, it hit him.

He knew that look. He knew that fighting style—the cadence was slow, quick, quick, slow. The comparison was uncanny, and he suddenly realized the source of his irritation. He was half expecting her to insult him: His attacks were too restive; he was wasting too much energy; his edges were not clean; his victory was not quick.

"You fight like a Kuchiki," he observed clearly.

She lifted her head, acknowledging that she understood him. She spoke not a word. She merely dodged his next oncoming attack, deflecting it with kido before gracefully evading another combination of melee and kido.

Hisana was quick. Kaien gave her that. She was also very adept at exploiting her environment. She used it well.

A well disguised feign, however, knocked her off kilter. She caught his Zanpakutō with hers. They sparred for a moment, and he felt a pang of satisfaction at the fact that she had forsaken her previous strategy. She had reverted back to quick strikes.

'There's my girl,' he thought, excitedly.

She felt pinned down.

Parry, riposte, attack, parry, riposte. She had managed to sustain a good volley with Kaien Shiba. If she had been spared a reflective moment, she would have felt pretty good about her performance. However, he was a fierce opponent, and he encroached on her quickly. She fought the instinct to release her sword. Taking the defensive, she blocked his flurry of attacks. He was proving to be too much. Too exacting. His swordplay was too aggressive. Inwardly, she felt for her breaking point. She needed breathing room.

Under her command, her Zanpakutō sparked.

He broke away, landing a few meters to her side.

"Fire," he murmured. The red wall of flames intrigued him. He had been expecting an elemental attack. One her first day at the Thirteenth, the Second had sent over her paperwork, confirming that she had attained shikai and that her Zanpakutō employed kido. He, however, would have bet his entire yearly salary on her Zanpakutō being ice-based.

Hisana touched the end of her blade to the ground. A fiery wave tore through the earth in his direction.

Kaien swiftly dodged the attack. She anticipated where he would land next, and she unleashed another surge of flames. He barely evaded the strike. The hem of his hakama singed from the brutal heat of the flames. She sent another wave toward him before sealing the blade. He maneuvered away from the fire with ease. Shocked that the fire receded, he turned to Hisana.

She looked wan. Wavering, she plunged her sword into the ground, and braced herself. Her breathing became shallow, and perspiration beaded on her brow.

"Hisana!" he called.

He did not make it to her in time.

She fell.

. . . .

Tiredly, her eyes blinked open. After a few flutters, her vision cleared. Somewhat. The bleached world came to her in a blurry soft filter.

She knew where she was without looking. The pungent smell of disinfectant caught in her throat, stinging the sensitive skin. 'The Fourth,' her inner voice moaned. Everything was so white and sterile. She hated it.

Moving her arm, she felt the resistance of tubing against her wrist. 'Shackled by an IV… What a familiar feeling…' She hated the plastic tethers. She hated the sound of the machines. She hated it _all_. She, however, swallowed her dismay like a bitter pill. It was better that way. There was no use in complaining. No one was in the room. Briefly, she wondered how long it would take for a nurse or orderly to find that she was awake and in perfectly good spirits.

She wondered if it mattered. Likely not. The prescription to her sudden exhaustion would be bed rest. There was simply no way around it. 'I should have taken better care of myself,' she said, chiding herself. Not that she ever listened to her inner pragmatist. She had managed to ignore everyone else's pleas for her to rest.

"You are awake!" It was a nurse. He halted mid-step to evaluate her. "You were out for an hour."

Hisana sat up in the bed. "Can I leave?" She cut to the chase. Pleasantries got her nowhere before with the Fourth. The nurses, doctors, Shinigami, and orderlies were all immune to bribes, kindness, pleading, and begging. It must have been in their training manuals.

His brows popped up, and a knowing smile curved his mouth. "We need to observe you. You took quite a tumble."

"How long?" she asked, deflated.

He looked up at the clock. "I'll check you in 15. If your vitals are better, you can leave." Thoughtlessly, he flung a magazine from the World of the Living in her direction. _Vogue_. The woman on the magazine was thin and delicate. She stood facing right with her hands apart as if she was talking to someone off camera; her face was in profile, and she wore a white dress with pink trim. Hisana stared at the picture absently before peeling the cover back.

Fifteen minutes later, the nurse returned. "Your stats still look weak," he murmured, taking her wrist in his hand and pressing his fingertips against the sensitive skin. "Quick," he noted of her pulse.

With a pleading look, she opened her mouth to speak, but, before she could get the words out, he stopped her: "I'll let you go on the condition that _you rest_. Get a book, a pen and paper, a puzzle, whatever, and relax. Fourth's orders. You are not going to return to your duties at the Thirteenth today."

She nodded, eagerly eying the IVs in her arms. She would have yanked them out herself if she thought it would have gone faster. Hisana, however, restrained her urge to flee.

After he discharged her, she wound her way to the Twelfth Division. The Twelfth had always inspired a sense of dread in her. It _looked_ ominous from the outside. It _felt_ even more ominous on the inside. The Shinigami that occupied its halls were a little peculiar to say the least. They walked with quick steps, heads in books or bent over clipboards, and minds trained on far-flung ideas. None of them was truly _present_. Occasionally, some large commotion—a hiss, a roar, strange beeping machines—transpired in the background, sending hoards of Shinigami scurrying to mollify whatever "extraneous variable" was the current source of havoc.

Hisana felt a bolt of relief the moment she crossed the threshold to the division's sizable library. Strange books with even stranger pictures lined the shelves. Each had been meticulously catalogued and indexed. For that effort, Hisana was grateful.

Overwhelmed by choices, Hisana plucked a few textbooks that she vaguely remembered from her academy days. "A primer," she said softly. Filling her arms with encyclopedias and introductory books on hollows, she sat down and began pouring over the weathered pages.

The late morning faded into scorching afternoon.

Afternoon subsequently faded to temperate dusk.

Hisana also had transformed from hesitant and perturbed to engrossed. She had strewn ten books across the table. The relevant portions of which she had read and analyzed, but the books were open to various other cross-references. Balancing two books against her chest, she ran a finger across the spines of a set of journals that a past captain had authored.

"One is missing," she muttered. The journal was entitled _On the Transmutation of Things and Essence_. Perplexed, her lips pulled to the side, and she huffed a breath. It seemed so perfect. She considered the possibility that someone had checked it out. Not to be deterred, Hisana set the books in her arms on the table with the rest of the research before pivoting toward the reference desk.

"I am looking for a journal," she said, breathless.

The librarian glanced up at her from a strange flickering device. "Name?" she asked in a short surly voice.

"Hisana," she said, confused.

"No, the book," the woman corrected, glancing back down at the device.

"_On the Transmutation of…_" Hisana's lips closed when the woman snapped her fingers after the word "transmutation."

The librarian glanced up at Hisana. "We don't have that journal right now, but it is on reserve at the Fifth."

Hisana blinked. "It is at the Fifth?"

"At the Fifth's library."

"Thank you," Hisana said, giving a slight bow before turning on her heel. 'I will finish up here, and then I will go to the Fifth,' she thought resolutely.

Six hours later, however, her mind was groggy and moved at a glacial pace. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the silky black urge to rest began to streak her vision. The blinks became steadily longer and more frequent. She was down and out like a light fifteen minutes later.

Hisana had no idea how long she had been asleep when she felt the touch of another against her neck. Startled, she jumped up and wheeled around, breathless. With wide eyes, she examined the intruder to find Byakuya's footman leaned over her chair. His muscles set in the position he had assumed just seconds prior. His eyelids fluttered opened and closed as if he was trying to shed his surprise. "Is Miss Hisana well?"

A wild look still clung to her: Her bright blue eyes were large and probing; her lips parted defensively; and her chest rose and fell perceptibly under her robes. "You are Sir Byakuya's body servant," she said, half-sure and half-anticipating a correction. Dearly, she hoped that he was a servant and _not_ a family member.

He nodded. "Yes, I am Sheh. My family has been faithful attendants of the Kuchikis for centuries."

Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, relaxation sank into her tense body, convincing her muscle fibers to loosen their knots. Her shoulders sank, and she placed a hand against her chest as if she was catching her breath. "How did you? Why did you? What?"

He smiled at her numerous incomplete questions. He bowed before turning to the task of giving her answers. "Sir Kuchiki heard that you had fallen ill. He sent me to the Fourth, but you had gone. When I returned to my master, he seemed very distraught-"

"Distraught?" Hisana interrupted. Her brows knitted together over narrow skeptical eyes. She simply could _not_ picture what a _distraught_ Byakuya would look like. Even with her vast imagination, _distraught_ was not happening. She could imagine him irritated, annoyed, unsettled, but not _distraught_. He was too refined for such an unseemly expression.

Sheh threw her a pointed stare. "Yes, _distraught_. He _paced_. He _paces_ when he is distraught."

'What?! That is not distraught!' Hisana wanted to exclaim. She could feel the weight of the words forming in her mouth, but, pressing her lips tightly together, she ate them before they could escape. "Paces?" she said, confused.

"Indeed. He paces, and he looks searchingly into the ether. It is very hard for a servant to see his master so upset. I asked him how I could help. He directed me to the Thirteenth and then any libraries. He said that you had seemed keen on searching for an answer to a question. I went to each of the divisions that have a library. As you know, _every _division has a library."

Hisana suddenly felt pity for the poor servant. Her lips twitched into a grimace, and she stared at him with large doleful eyes. "I am so sorry."

He raised a hand and bowed. "No, no. No apologies, Lady Hisana."

Hisana jarred at the sound of the title. She felt as if he had slapped her in the face. Reflexively, she took a step back. Her breath caught in her throat, and the hand that once clutched her robes shot up in front of her defensively. "I am…"

Realizing that he had startled her, he quickly bowed again. "Many apologies. But, I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" Hisana's voice came out a little harsher than intended, sounding equal parts shocked and chastising.

Standing, Sheh's posture became ramrod straight. He watched her with sweet soothing eyes as if her unassuming nature touched him deeply. "My Lord's intentions."

Hisana's brows lowered and knitted together, forming a wrinkle in her forehead. The question was written on her face. She did not have to ask it. She could not find the words even if she wanted to. Whenever anyone spoke of her relationship with Byakuya, she always felt like she was 10 steps behind. It was as if they all were speaking in some secret shorthand. She had trouble filtering the assumptions from the truth. But, it was Byakuya's own attendant that spoke the words. What were Byakuya's intentions? Were the assumptions correct?

He shook his head and smiled sweetly. "My mistake," he said, bowing again. "Miss Hisana, Sir Kuchiki would like you to join him in the First."

"First Division?" She could not fathom why he would be at the First.

"District," he corrected. "He is training in the hinterland. If you are feeling well, I will escort you."

Hesitantly, she glanced back at the books on the table. She started toward the books, quickly collecting them and stacking them. "Do you mind if I check these out first?"

He shook his head.

. . . .

Sheh did not lie. Byakuya was training deep in the wilderness of the First Rukon District when she arrived. Hisana knew the area. The Second used the site for some of their trainings. It was a sleepy bucolic stretch of land located far from any of the hamlets. Far away from anything.

Hisana smiled the moment she saw Byakuya. He was dressed in a simple kosode, and a knotted red tie held his hair back in a low ponytail. Silently, she watched him, enamored by his form. His movements were so graceful and purposeful. He looked like poetry.

"Sir Kuchiki, Miss Hisana," the servant said, clearing his throat.

Panicked, Byakuya stopped mid-swing. His body braced against the sudden force of changing direction and application of the movement. Jolting forward, he turned to her. His eyes were wide, frantic. "Hisana," he said.

Hisana's heart fluttered, and she averted her gaze bashfully. She had never seen him look so passionately out of sorts over her. He spoke her name as if he was speaking a question. It sounded _hopeful_—as if he wanted to ensure his eyes had not betrayed him.

"Sir Byakuya," she said, softly. She kept her gaze fixed on the loose dirt beneath her feet.

In an instant, he was at her side, taking the books from her arms and setting them down. He then took her hands in his own. "Are you feeling well?" His blue eyes scrutinized her. Seeing the tear in her uniform, he traced the fabric with a finger to ensure that the slash had not gone deep. Satisfied that her white undergarment was intact, he tried to meet her gaze.

Her eyes flicked up briefly before settling back down at her feet. "Yes," she said gently, giving a slight nod of her head. She could not look into those eyes. She felt embarrassed. The sensation came from nowhere, but she felt as if she would melt under the heat of his stare. The ground was a much safer alternative.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded. "Yes, Sir Kuchiki. Thank you for your concern."

Tenderly, he led her to a small stone wall. The stones were smooth and flat. It was a perfect place to rest. Taking great care, he situated her on the wall. Swiftly, he left her side to bring the books to her. "Do you mind if I continue?" he asked.

Hisana shook her head. Finding her courage, she glanced up at him and smiled. "Not at all." The distracting sensation of embarrassment began to diminish, and she could form a cogent thought.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, leaning down so that she did not have to strain to speak.

"Yes," she said. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

He bowed politely.

She held her smile. 'He seems nervous,' she thought to herself. Indeed, his movements were agitated and jittery.

He changed course at least twice. He shifted between moving toward her and toward the small clearing in which he had been practicing. She had never seen him act so indecisively in her life. "Are you certain you are feeling well enough?" He turned back to her, and, leaning down, he felt against the stones. "They feel cold. Do you need a blanket?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word in edgewise, he fetched his haori. He draped the coat over her. Tucking her into the fabric, he looked up at her. His eyes betrayed his anxiety. "Is this satisfactory?"

Again, before she could answer, he began fussing with the robe, trying to devise better ways to retain warmth. He continued to fight with the haori for a full minute.

She stopped him with a touch.

Caressingly, she cupped her hand against his cheek. He felt warm and slick from sweat. "Sir Byakuya," she said, deepening her gaze, "I fainted during training. I am not sick. I don't have a fever." Soothingly, she pushed a stray stand of hair from his eyes. "You have made me feel very contented."

He nodded. A slight blush rose in his cheeks. Standing up, he gave a small bow, and, turning back to the clearing, he took a few steps forward. He paused and glanced back at her. "Is there anything you desire? The stones are hard. I could-"

She silenced him with an easy smile.

He gave a shaky nod of his head before turning to face the clearing.

'What happened?' she wondered to herself. He always had been so calm and poised. He had been indifferent—above reproach and censure. But, at that moment, he seemed so discomposed. Briefly, she wondered if _she_ had been the cause of his disquiet. As Hisana considered the implications, she suddenly felt her heart start excitedly. She was certain that his fluster meant something important, and she ran hot and cold from some unspeakable delight.

Hisana, however, was quick to bury her warm happiness in a book. She hoped that cold facts and leaden prose could stifle the fire that burned deep in the pit of her stomach. It took some effort, but, a chapter into _Of Gods and Monsters_, she had conquered the quixotic feelings that emanated from her heart. Occasionally, however, movements in her periphery would catch her eye, and she would watch him train probably longer than she should have. Her heart would seemingly spark as she watched him, and she would quickly try to smother the fire by reading the dull words in the book.

'He probably does not want me watching him anyway,' she reasoned. 'I surely would feel uncomfortable having someone watch me train.' Absently, she glanced up. 'He is very good,' she thought, observing his battle postures, 'so very graceful.' She set the book aside and leaned forward. His form was so perfect.

Byakuya's attention broke, and he gave her a sidelong glance. Glimpsing her unwavering look, he immediately stopped. His muscles shook against the sudden change in trajectory of movement. His cheeks turned a pale shade of red, and he stared at her. Moonlight played in his clear blue eyes. He looked so young suddenly. So young and uncertain.

Sensing that he was seeking validation, she lifted her head and smiled. "I have never seen your shikai. I hear it is beautiful," she called; her voice trembled with some unspeakable emotion.

He nodded his head. At first, she was unsure of whether he was responding to her observation or if he was nodding to himself, trapped in some strange thought. Her wonder, however, ended when he reached his hand out toward her. While he was several meters away, she knew his intention. She hopped off the stone wall. Her feet planted in the soft ground below. When she reached him, she accepted his hand with both of hers.

Byakuya stepped to her back and drew her close. Securing her against his chest with one arm, he leaned down and placed his chin on her shoulder. "Do you trust me?" His breath was soft and warm against her ear.

His words and touch rekindled the warm fire that she had been trying to squelch. Every fiber in body felt like it had been set aflame. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird, and a cold breath hitched in her chest. Unable to find the words, she merely nodded her head.

As if her reply was his command, he pinned her against his chest with one arm. He raised Senbonzakura in front of her. The blade glinted in the moonlight, reflecting a silvery light down on her. With eager eyes, Hisana watched the steel. It radiated a pale pink sheen.

"Scatter, Senbonzakura," he whispered.

Hisana watched the blade fragment into a thousand deadly petals. Her lips curved up before splitting into a wide smile. She had been told what his release was. In fact, it seemed like the entire Seireitei _knew_ the exact moment when he had achieved shikai; the details of his release were quick to follow. He had been very young then. She had been young then as well.

But, reading about it in the paper and hearing about it from word-of-mouth did not compare to seeing it. "So beautiful," she murmured, fighting back the urge to reach out and touch one of the petals.

Feeling her body shift against his, he held her tighter. "Do not move," he commanded.

She obeyed him. The only movement she made was when she descried him out of the corner of her eye. He watched her with an intense look, and she blushed before turning her attention back to the swirling blades.

Hisana could have watched the display for hours, but exhaustion cracked her concentration. She fought to keep her eyes open, but it was a battle she was sorely losing. It also did not help that his warmth against her back felt so _inviting_. Even his scent had become a source of intoxication.

Nuzzling her head against his, she grinned. "Your soul is lovely," she said, succumbing to the inky blackness that lay behind her eyelids.

Byakuya sealed his sword and pulled her to face him. Sleepy-eyed, she blinked back the stinging sensation in her eyes. "I still have work to do," she said softly.

"You should rest." He affixed his Zanpakutō to his sash.

Hisana left him briefly to retrieve her books, "I have to stop by the Fifth." Her voice was soft but firm. She was going to browse the Fifth's library even if only amounted to a cursory look.

"I will escort you," he paused, "to the Thirteenth."

She perked up. There was something about his confidence—that _he_ would take her to the _Thirteenth_—that seemed almost threatening. It amused her greatly. Her exhaustion, in turn, attenuated. "I am going to the Fifth," she said. Her eyes brightened, betraying the sudden spark within.

Before he could scold her, she was off. "Hisana…" he groused.

He gave chase.

He hated to admit that she was fast. He was faster. What she lacked in sheer speed, however, she made up for in her agility. She was more adroit. If he was going to catch her before she reached the Fifth, he would need to outthink her. She was clever, but so was he, and he knew the area better.

He diverted from her winding path, finding a shortcut. Hisana, however, was quick to his plan and changed hers accordingly. It ended with a spectacular collision in front of the Fifth's rear gate.

Caught in a tangle of robes and limbs, Byakuya had managed to snake his arm under her head to cushion it from the drop to the ground. He was worried sick that he might have injured her. Hisana, on the other hand, could not repress the fit of laughter that burst forward from her chest. She tried to strangle the noise, but it was futile. It came pouring out. Breathless, she looked up into his face. "Sir Kuchiki," she said, the moment she could pull air. She could not tell whether he wanted to scold her or laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Byakuya shook his head, and, for a brief instant, he grinned down at her. He was the first to stand, and he pulled her up. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, Sir Kuchiki. Are you well?"

He felt a twinge at her sudden formality. Absently, he nodded his head. "What do you need from the Fifth that you cannot find at the Thirteenth?"

She smiled at the haughty manner in which he posed the question. 'There is the Byakuya that I know,' she thought to herself wryly. "I need a book. It is on reserve at the Fifth," her words were quick and clipped.

"Reserve? You can't check it out then."

'Sometimes I hate it that you are so observant,' she mused. Her lips twitched, and she forced a smile. "I can just look through it briefly."

"You need…"

"to rest," she parroted in the same low dark intonations. She folded her arms in front of her chest to protect herself from his piercing stare. He did not look amused. "You can come to ensure that I don't break doctor's orders."

"Fifteen minutes," he stated.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath. A deep _compromising _breath. "Fifteen minutes," she repeated back to him. She did not like compromising. She especially disliked compromising during her free time. But, she would this one time. For him.

Upon spying Byakuya, the guards opened the gate. "Sir Kuchiki has business at the Fifth? Should we alert the captain?" one of them called down.

Byakuya turned his attention to the guards. "I have no official business. I am here to use the library."

The guards paid Hisana no attention as they stepped into the division's territory. She did not feel comfortable at the Fifth, and her sudden unease perturbed her even more. Feeling edgy at the Twelfth was expected—any sane person would be frightened near the R&D unit. It also did not help that two of the most eccentric souls in all of Soul Society ran the Twelfth. The Fifth, however, was well regarded. '_Mostly_ well regarded,' Hisana thought grimly to herself. It was a universal fact that Gin Ichimaru was off-putting. He cultivated "off-putting" and wore it like a badge of honor. He reveled in making others feel uncomfortable.

"What book is it?" Byakuya asked, giving her sidelong stare.

"It is a journal, _On the Transmutation of Things and Essence._"

He visibly started. "Transmutation?"

Hisana pressed forward. They were a few meters from the Fifth's library. "Yes," she said.

Byakuya did not ask the question, but she could _feel_ it in his silence. 'Why do you need to know about something like that?'

The question on Hisana's mind, however, was, 'Why does the Fifth need to put a book like that on _reserve_?' Placing the book on reserve meant that Captain Aizen was using it as instructional material. 'What could he possibly be teaching that requires a book on transmutation?' She half-considered the possibility of enrolling in the course. With her myriad duties, she doubted that she could find the time even if there was an open enrollment.

Once the pair arrived at the library, Hisana bowed her head at Byakuya. "The circulation desk?" she said, nodding in the direction of the librarian. He began over to the desk while she found a table. She carefully set her books down and breathed a sigh of relief. She finally had a moment to gather her thoughts.

"A member of the Thirteenth."

Hisana froze. She had a sinking feeling that _she_ was the member to which the strong baritone voice was referring. Swallowing hard, she turned stiffly and acknowledged the man with wide eyes. "Captain Aizen." She bowed. "It is a pleasure." She had never met him formally; she had only caught glimpses of him at events. In fact, she would have thought him just any other Shinigami had she not seen his captain's haori.

"You must be the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat." Despite the light glinting in his glasses, he had a pleasant expression. No hard edges or cruel eyes. He seemed to be the affable captain that the others had always described.

Hisana smiled and nodded. "Yes, Captain." Although, she did not know how he knew that she was the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat. She was dressed in her torn uniform, but there were no identifiers. Then, she remembered the tales of _stirring _and _buzzing_. Her color rose at the realization. 'Gods, I pray the captains are above such prattle.'

He lowered his head. The light no longer caught in the lenses of his glasses, and Hisana could see his eyes more clearly. He had an almost paternal expression. "What brings you to my humble division?"

She averted her gaze to the floorboards as she began. "I am looking for a book."

"Which book?"

"_On the Transmutation of Things and Essence_," she said.

He shifted and took a step backward in reply.

Hisana looked up, hoping that she had not somehow offended him. "It is on reserve here." She straightened her posture.

Aizen nodded. "Yes, I thought it would be useful material for some research I was doing."

Hisana nodded. Aizen had a reputation as scholar. His appetite of all things _esoteric_ was well documented. "I was not planning on taking it out of the division."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, it is quite alright. I believe I have abandoned that line of research for the time being."

Unconsciously, Hisana glanced over to Byakuya at the circulation desk. Gin Ichimaru had cornered him, and the two men were speaking. Byakuya's features hardened into an intense look, and he spoke very little. Her stomach dropped. "I see," she said, turning back to Captain Aizen.

Having observed her look and discerned it meaning, he bowed. "It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance." As he spoke the last few words, a sharp _crack_ sounded from the polished floorboards. Hisana glanced down to find an obsidian stone had fallen out of Aizen's pocket.

"Oh, no," she said, immediately reaching down to fetch it for the captain. The moment she touched the smooth black stone, she felt a prick of pain emanate from her hand. As if she were holding something incredibly hot, she fumbled the rock in Aizen's direction. He plucked it from her grasp.

"You are bleeding," he observed, taking her hand in his. "Many apologies. This strange obsidian is very perilous with its sharp edges." He opened her hand with his fingers. Gently, his touch skated across the small wound. Within seconds, the pain ceased, and the puncture mark disappeared.

"The stone is reacting to you," Hisana noted. Her brows pulled together as she observed the stone's sudden change in color. It went from a shiny black to a dark green.

"Indeed. Its dormant state is black. Did it not react to you?"

She glanced up at Aizen. "No. It was black."

"Strange." Holding the stone delicately between his fingers, he set the stone's smooth side on her palm. It returned to its dormant state. Black. His brows lifted slightly at the result. Gripping her hand, he waited to see if the stone responded with him touching her. Nothing. He released a small burst of reiatsu. Still nothing. Some strange flight of fancy caught his attention, and he turned to spot his Vice Captain. "How interesting. You are a shield of sorts," he said partly in Hisana's direction and partly in Gin's direction. Removing the stone and dropping it in his pocket, he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of nose. With a hooded look, Aizen summoned Gin. "I have to be going, but it was good making your acquaintance," he said, bowing his head in her direction.

Hisana reciprocated. "The pleasure is mine, Captain," she said. Still is bowed position, she glanced up and watched him lightly step across the floor to the exit. Ichimaru met him at the doorway, and the two men disappeared into the dark corridor beyond the library.

Byakuya returned to her side. "Are you well?" he asked, taking her once injured hand in his. A feather-light touch opened her palm. He traced the line where the wound had been.

"You saw?" Her eyes filled with worry.

A stifling silence fell over them. Her heart sank as she observed the remote look on his face. Instantly, she wondered what Gin had said, and whether Gin's brand of _creepy_ had any effect on Byakuya. Byakuya seemed so cold and focused. His gaze sharp and directed at everything and nothing at once. Some dark thought had captured his attention, and she trembled at his intensity. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Sir Kuchiki, we found the journal." The librarian's voice crashed over the pair, shattering their thoughts.

Byakuya took the journal from her. "I will bring it back in the morning."

She bowed. "Yes, sir."

Byakuya then gathered Hisana's other books and offered her his arm. Without a second thought, Hisana accepted his offer, and the two began out of the library. Silence filled the spaces in between.

"I thought it was on reserve," she whispered when the two were many meters away from the Fifth.

"It is. I will have it returned promptly after my family's clerks have made a duplicate."

She smiled up at him.

He was on emotional lockdown.

Her heart sank.

The bright light in his eyes dimmed, and his lips sloped into a frown. He looked so icy and remote. It pained her. "What did Ichimaru?" _Do_. _Say_. _Lie about_.

Byakuya closed his eyes and exhaled a breath…

Ichimaru carried on so familiarly with everyone. Just like Rangiku. Unlike Rangiku, however, Gin's intention was to disturb his victim. He liked to throw people off kilter, and he relished the ensuing emotional tumult. This was no different:

"_How is Sir Kuchiki?" Gin asked. The perpetual smile plastered to his face. The hour grew dark, and the man's smile began to look worn and thin, which, oddly, only made it more menacing. _

_Byakuya did not bother with an acknowledgment. He continued to wait for the librarian. _

"_Such a beautiful night for a stroll, no?" _

_Again, Byakuya ignored the smiling man. _

"_The best strollin' weather of the year was during the Cherry Blossom festival." _

"_Is that so?" Byakuya growled. _

"_The Thirteenth's Vice Captain and Fifth Seat made great use of it then to stroll." His peasant's drawl lengthened the word "stroll" until it sounded profane. _

_Byakuya turned to Gin. His glare hardened. His lips itched to rebuke the smiling man, but he could not speak the words. He was sure if he spoke the thoughts banging at his brain that he would open a line of attack that would surely harm Hisana's pride. No. Byakuya simply turned his cheek to Gin, pretending that he had never heard the man speak. It was then—in his anger and irritation—that he glanced over at Hisana. A look of pain stained her pale face and turned down her delicate features. Shocked, Byakuya found Aizen holding her hand in his. Byakuya bristled._

_Noting Byakuya's agitation at the touch, Gin shifted closer. "They seemed so attached then. I think she even invited him to her quarters after."_

"What is your relationship with Shiba?" Despite the matter-of-fact cadence of the question, a flicker in his Byakuya's eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. He had been suspicious of Kaien's intentions since the Vice Captain had invited Hisana to drink with him. Kaien had regarded her so unprofessionally then.

Hisana blinked, dumbfounded. "He is my Vice Captain."

His face soured. "Did you see him today?"

She nodded her head. "I see him every day." She paused, searching his expression. His façade was inscrutable. "I trained with him today. Why?" She could not discern what, exactly, he was trying to uncover with the questions. "Is something wrong?"

He gave her a fleeting look. His lips parted, but the words never came. Instead, he turned his attention back to the middle distance. "Have you? Did you? Do you?" He stammered.

Hisana had never seen him stammer. Briefly, she considered the possibility that he was _suspicious _of her relationship with Kaien. "Do I care for my Vice Captain?" she asked, hoping that she had completed at least one of his half-finished questions.

He glanced down at her.

"I care about my Vice Captain. He _is_ my Vice Captain. But, we are not attached beyond that."

Byakuya's face softened. He looked almost apologetic, but she could not blame him. She felt similarly. "What about Lady Kokiden?" Hisana asked, turning her gaze to the dirt path. Since they were on the topic of alleged pairings…

He tilted his head to the side. His brows furrowed, and his eyes became gentle. "I saw her briefly."

Hisana shuttered at his candor. "Oh," she said. Her heart fell. "Did you? Do you? What?" Now, she was doing it.

He flinched as if reliving a particularly bad memory. "I never-"

A sympathetic look smoothed the lines of Hisana's countenance. "I understand," she said before he could finish the thought.

Much to his family's chagrin, Byakuya could never bring himself to kiss the woman let alone spend the evening with her. His resistance, however, was not without much ado. Lady Kokiden had tried everything to appeal to his sensibilities. She flirted, teased, and attempted to appear alluring—lighting, romantic venues, clothes. None of her tricks, however, affected him. If possible, with each coquettish remark or look, he found her a little more appalling. He could not deny the fact that he found her intriguing initially. She so closely resembled Hisana. He had hoped that her temperament had matched Hisana's as well. He had been wrong. So incredibly wrong. The whole affair had blown up in his face in such a spectacular manner. He wondered if he could ever extricate himself from it.

Hisana smiled up at him. He looked so abject. His eyes trailed to the ground, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Even the light in eyes darkened. Resolved to perk him up, she began, "Is it true what they say about you and the former captain of the Second?"

His misery quickly faded into a look of shock.

"About you and Lady Yoruichi Shihōin?" Hisana said, elaborating.

"What _do_ they say about _me_ and _that woman_?"

Hisana chuckled. "She used to babysit you."

"She did no such thing."

"You used to play tag with her."

"I resorted to self-help so I could restore my property rights. She was a _thief_."

Hisana laughed. "They said you had a crush on her," she continued, finding his emphatic denials too amusing.

His eyes widened at the very inference. "Never."

Hisana's smiled widened. She very much doubted that. The stories were too numerous. His boyish admiration for the captain was legendary. Not that she could fault him for it. The Shinigami who had served under Yoruichi still loved her. The present captain of the Second included.

"I wish I could have met her." She cocked her head, and a look of whimsy lit her eyes.

"You did not miss much," he retorted under his breath. "She was a _careless_ woman."

Hisana titled her head. 'Careless? Such a strange descriptive.' He said the word so pointedly that she wondered if the thought of Yoruichi's absence stung him. On second glance, however, he did not appear hurt or affected. Perhaps he had just simply come to terms with her sudden departure.

"Thank you, Sir Kuchiki," Hisana said once they reached her room. She held the door open for him.

He quickly set the books down. When he straightened, he scanned her quarters. He did not remember much of it from the night before. The room was simply adorned. She had a futon, a small writing desk, a mirror, a few scrolls, and a sword. The sheathed sword instantly pulled his attention, and he drew closer. "What is this?" It looked vaguely familiar.

"It is a Zanpakutō," she answered, shutting the door behind her.

He glanced over at her. Her Zanpakutō was affixed to her hakama-himo. "Whose Zanpakutō?"

Hisana stood beside him. "My sister's." The word was so hard to say. Since her time as a Shinigami, she had never told a member of the Gotei 13 about her sister. Ever.

He turned to her. A look of shock crossed his face. "Sister?"

She crossed her arms in front of her, and she glanced down. "Yes. I have a sister."

"Where is she?"

Hisana shook her head. "I have not spoken to her in many years. I found her Zanpakutō not long ago, and I have been saving it for her."

Sensing that he was broaching a delicate topic, he stopped. "My apologies."

She shook her head. "No. No need. It is my fault that we don't speak."

He bowed his head politely. "It is getting late."

She smiled. "Thank you so much for your help, Sir Byakuya. I really enjoyed my evening with you." She bowed deeply, hoping that it could convey her sincere gratitude. When she stood up, she found him staring down at her. They stood solemn for a moment.

When Byakuya turned to leave, she caught his sleeve in her hand.

He stopped.

"Stay," she commanded shakily.

. . . .

Sitting, Hisana slumped over and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. She was in a state of dishabille. Her robes parted sensuously, exposing her bare legs. The collar of her kimono hung low on her back. She gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes. Inky tresses fell in her face, and a quirky smile played across her lips.

Byakuya watched her intently from across the room. The morning sun painted her pale skin gold. Her hair was tangled, and her thin yukata revealed more than it covered. Freshly woken, she looked like a beautiful mess.

Hisana slyly eyed Byakuya, and she bit her lip. It was too early in the morning for him to look so put together. Every hair was in place, and his clothes neatly hung off his frame. His stillness calmed her. His glance warmed her. His kindness inspired great admiration in her. His love frightened her.

"I have tea today," she said, sleepily.

"I know," he said, straightening his robes. "Don't embarrass me." The delivery was deadpan, but the bend in his eyebrow indicated that he was teasing her.

Smiling, she shook her head. "I have no idea," she began languidly. A playful tenor rounded the edges of her words.

His gaze narrowed.

"…what to wear."

Byakuya's head tilted up. "I will buy you-"

She shook her head. Hisana knew that all she had to do was ask, and he would take the robes off his back to please her. "No." She had long decided that she was not going to wear something beyond her means. She was a peasant. She was not going to pretend to be something else. It would be too confusing, and it would send the wrong signal. She was enduring tea with one of the most powerful and calculating men in Soul Society because she cared for said man's grandson. _Impressing_ Ginrei Kuchiki was out of the question, and thinking that expensive threads would do the trick was a losing proposition.

While she refused to spend three years' salary on a kimono, she was not going to wear her Inuzuri-special to tea. She had an assortment of worn but wearable kimonos. 'Which one?' she sighed miserably to herself.

"Sir Byakuya, please," she said, reaching out to him, "distract me."

He took her hand in his.

Gripping him firmly, she yanked him down on the futon.

"I have to go soon," he said, leaning over her.

She smiled up at him. The bright sunbeams glistened in her wide beseeching eyes. "A moment longer?"

"I have my exam today." Despite his protest, he obliged.

Feeling his body settle near her, Hisana rested her head on his shoulder. "You nervous?"

He gave her a self-assured glance.

"Of course not," she said, molding her body around his. She always seemed to fit against him perfectly.

"Are you nervous?" His soft deep voice sounded so nice against her ear.

"Very."

Hisana gazed up into the ceiling. This was not her room. They were hidden deep in the First Rukon District. 'I must have fallen asleep.' For the past few days, she had watched his training, and, for the past few nights, she had drifted asleep mid-way through. Byakuya had taken her each night to a small inn. It was quaint and clean, and no one bothered them. In fact, Hisana quite enjoyed the seclusion for the few hours they spent. "How is training going?" It went unspoken, but she knew he was trying to master his Bankai. Briefly, she wondered if anyone else knew that he was so close.

He glanced at her peripherally. "Well." His voice sounded strained.

Hisana turned her head to face him, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Your technique looked good."

"You fell asleep." His voice dry.

She smiled. "I am recovering."

"Does recovering entail exterminations in Rukongai?"

Tiredly, she turned over and sat up on her knees. Her hands nimbly flew up to her collar. With quick deliberate movements, she tucked herself neatly into her robes. She cocked a brow. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"

Standing, she extended her hand to him. "How was it?" he asked, accepting her help to stand.

She nodded her head. "It was nothing really."

"Think of tea that way."

Her lips split into a smile, which she quickly obscured with the sleeve of her kimono. "Yes, Sir Byakuya."

Tilting his head toward the door, she nodded her reply. Quietly, they crossed the floor. He took the lead, and she trailed behind as they crossed the threshold to the small hut. He paused, waiting for her to catch up to his stride. "When is your examination?" she asked, taking to his side.

"In an hour."

Hisana gave him a consoling look. While he would never admit it, he did seem nervous. "You'll pass with flying colors," she said.

He nodded. "As will you."

Laughter almost burst from her lips. She sincerely did not believe that. He was being generous, and, for that, she was grateful.

When they entered Seireitei, she paused on the bridge. "Good luck," she said, taking his hand in hers for a brief moment. She tucked her chin toward her neck, and watched him with large bright eyes.

He dipped his head down and pressed his lips against her forehead. It was quick, and his touch was light, but it made her feel contented. When she looked up, he was gone.

She felt like she had awoken from a very good dream.

. . . .

"Good to see you," Miyako jibed the moment she saw Hisana step into the Thirteenth's office.

Hisana lowered her head. With each second, her body temperature plummeted, and her pulse fluttered. She was certain that her heart was going to explode. "Apologies," she said in a hoarse voice.

"You look like you have been sentenced to death."

Hisana shivered. "No. Not quite that bad. But close."

Miyako inclined her head the moment she discerned the source of Hisana's anxiety. "Tea?" she uttered.

Hisana shuddered. The word, once so innocuous, took on an insidious meaning. Suddenly, she hated tea. The very thought of it made her ill. She vowed never to drink _tea_ again.

Miyako shot her a sympathetic look. "It will be fine."

Hisana was unconvinced. 'It will be fine' was what people said when things were most definitely _not going to be fine_. No one ever said, "It will be fine," when things were going well. In fact, the very phrase was predicated on something going _awry_. Things were awry indeed.

"Really," Miyako said, handing Hisana a stack of papers. "It could not go worse than my lunch with Lady Kokiden."

"What?" Hisana's eyes widened, and her jaw went slack.

Miyako chuckled. "Yes."

"What happened?"

Miyako closed her eyes, lifted her chin, and shook her head. She feigned indignation well. "If I tell you now then what leverage do I have when you have taken tea with Captain Kuchiki?"

"_Lord Kuchiki_," Hisana corrected.

"Lord Kuchiki." Miyako's brows perked up. "Oh, it is _family_ business. Are you having tea at the estate then?"

Hisana pursed her lips and nodded. "Kuchiki manor." She gave a subtle shake of her head in disbelief. As if, it could get any worse… There would be no witnesses when he decided to kill her to save his grandson from the shame of courting a _peasant_.

An excited gleam radiated from Miyako's eyes. She seemed genuinely happy for Hisana. "I hear the estate is beautiful."

Hisana exhaled a sigh through her nose. She had a feeling that any beauty to be had would be lost on her. Already, her brain buzzed so frantically that she had difficulty focusing. Her thoughts scrambled. She felt like she was running on a delay.

"You should sit," Miyako said, taking Hisana's arm and leading her to a sitting mat. "Really, there is no need to be flustered. You have sat at a formal tea, correct?"

Absently, Hisana nodded. "Yes," she said, unable to concentrate on a single thought. She was only mildly aware of what Miyako was doing or saying at the time.

"Good. What are you wearing?"

"What did Lady Kokiden say?"

"You can't wear a yukata. It would be too informal," Miyako said to herself, ignoring Hisana's question for the time being.

"Was she angry?" Hisana continued.

Miyako pressed her index finger to her lips. She glanced up in thought as if she was taking a mental inventory of her clothes. "You could borrow one of my kimonos. I think I have something in red."

Hisana blinked. "I am going to wear my uniform."

Miyako lowered her head, and her brows knitted together. She looked concerned. "What?"

"My uniform."

Miyako considered the choice. At first she appeared to find it inappropriate, but, as she thought better of it, she seemed to understand Hisana's decision. "I see."

"I will return to the division after. It is the most pragmatic choice."

Miyako nodded. "Of course."

Disjointed, Hisana's mind could no longer handle thinking about the tea. Her hands had gone numb, and her throat felt like it was clamping shut. Her mind searched for an escape hatch—a diversion. "How is our Vice Captain?" Kaien's sudden chilliness toward her proved to be perfect fodder.

Miyako smiled gently, seemingly perceiving her subordinate's distress. "He is well. He has been called away for a mission for the last few days."

Hisana's lips sloped into a frown. "Is he?"

Miyako raised a hand and shook her head. "No. He seemed very worried about you."

"I hope he returns safely."

Miyako's smile widened. "As do I."

The momentary stillness that came on the heels of the women's well wishes broke with the rustling of a door dragged back on its track. A young man stood, bent over. His hands were planted on the tops of his thighs, and he panted. "A Kuchiki attendant has come to collect the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat," he struggled between breaths. Confusion lined the Shinigami's face as he gazed into the room.

Hisana swore she saw stars at the pronouncement. Half expecting her legs to break from from under her, she stood and took a shaky step forward. She suddenly forgot how to walk. Everything in the room tilted—the very idea of navigating the room seemed hazardous. She trusted nothing. Her mind focused intensely on every movement she made. Every _imperfect peasant-like_ movement.

"Good luck, Hisana," Miyako said, bowing.

Hisana bowed in Miyako's direction. It was quick and jerky in execution. She was sure that she was going to faint. Her body, however, kept steady as she crossed over the threshold to the room.

. . . .

When Hisana arrived at the manor, she pulled into herself in an attempt to take up as little space as possible. She was so worried. She was worried that she would expose herself to be some unseemly creature. She was worried that she would say the Wrong Thing or not say the Right Thing. She was worried that she would fall prey to one of the many esoteric customs and protocols that ran the nobles' lives.

An attendant led her to the room and jerked his chin up as if to say, "He waits in there." He watched her cautiously like she was some fey thing.

'Perhaps he can detect my lack of breeding?' she wondered, biting her lip. Turning to the door, Hisana shivered. The world seemingly shifted and tilted under her feet. In the proper manner, she kneeled in front of the door. Her hands went cold. With brow bent, she trembled under her robes. Every fiber in her tightened. She felt as stiff as a corpse.

"You may enter," the attendant, an old wizened man, said nodding his head.

Using her hand nearest the door, she drew the shoji door back the length of a forefinger. She then switched her hands to slide it the rest of the way. She bowed at the threshold, refusing to look up or into the room. She fixed her gaze to the tatami.

Feeling the attendant shift behind her, she carefully entered. She breathed a deep breath when she realized that she made it to the sitting mat in front of Lord Kuchiki without falling on her face. Training the shake out of her body, however, required greater effort. The more she commanded herself to be still, the more her body quaked. Strange unknown fault-lines sent her muscles aflutter.

Ginrei Kuchiki had not noticed her trembling. What he did notice was that she looked like a whipped dog. Her eyes were wide, and her gaze trained on the floor. She appeared pained.

"Good afternoon, Lord Kuchiki," she said in a quick breath. Again, she did not acknowledge him with a look.

"So you are the woman who has designs on my grandson?"

Hisana's eyes widened. No pleasantries. No greeting. Just a brazen question. Her gaze flitted up to him. She was stricken.

He took a sip of tea. Calmly, he scrutinized her over the brim of his cup. He looked so regal. She wondered if he had practice at cutting someone with a single glimpse.

Her brows lowered and pulled together over worried eyes. "I care for Sir Kuchiki." Her gaze trailed to the floor as she spoke. Briefly, she glanced up at the captain. If he approved of her answer, he made no indication.

"From what district do you hail?" he asked. His voice strong and commanding.

Sitting ramrod straight, she lifted her head. "I am from Inuzuri." She stared into the dark silk of his robes. "The 78th Rukon District."

"That is far."

Silently, she considered the possible meanings of his observation. 'Far in distance? Or, far in status?' Perhaps, both.

"Where do you meet my grandson?"

Hisana had a sinking feeling that Lord Kuchiki knew the answers to his questions. Likely, he wanted confirmation from the source's mouth. "During his Vice Captaincy test." Her voice was thin and weak.

He raised his head, recalling a distant memory. "Oh, yes. You said that he completed the test satisfactorily at the determination."

She nodded her head. "Sir Kuchiki is very skillful."

"You know that he wishes to take a position among the Gotei 13." He stated it matter-of-factly.

Meeting his gaze, she nodded. "Yes, Sir Kuchiki trains very hard."

Ginrei shifted. The lines of his face drew into a pensive expression. "You have seen him train?"

She nodded, tilting her head down. While she would not lie, she did not feel comfortable divulging more information. She did not want to betray Byakuya's confidence.

Ginrei grew silent. He looked as if some irresistible thought had captured him. "He is training to master his Bankai?"

Hisana raised her head, and she closed her eyes. "Yes," she murmured. Her look of repose melted after she spoke the word.

Sensing that she was uncomfortable, he reciprocated. "He has been training hard for his exam recently."

"Really?" Reflexively, her brows flew up. She thought he had abandoned his studies for _other_ pursuits. Namely, anything other than studying.

Ginrei's face remained stoic, but she caught a playful gleam in his eyes. "Yes. He has become very passionate about his studies lately. He is never at the manor anymore, and when he leaves he _insists _that it is to study."

She tucked her chin down and pressed her lips together. Not true, her thoughts sang in her head. Not true at all. She repressed the urge to grin at Byakuya's deception. "Sir Kuchiki is very focused." She paused for a moment. "He is a very good man."

Ginrei took another sip of tea. Gazing down, he spied her Zanpakutō affixed to her hip. "Tell me the name of your sword."

Hisana's lips parted, and her gaze flicked to the floor. "Amaterasu, sir," she whispered.

His clear blue eyes narrowed. "Amaterasu?"

She felt naked under his gaze.

"So it is true." With a look, he exposed her. "All that is gold does not glister."

. . . .

Shaken. Hisana felt viscerally stirred. Her thoughts hummed frantically in her head. The hum infiltrated her ears and reverberated deep in her bones. Mindlessly, she walked the footpath from the Kuchiki manor toward the city.

Halfway down the path, she stopped. It was instinctive. Her muscles responded before her mind had a chance to process the nearby disturbance. Her feet knew what to do before her heart heard the words.

She turned to face him. Her eyes were bright, and the cold chill that stung her faded. "You look well," she said, hoping to mask her weariness with a chipper voice.

Byakuya approached her with a strong quick gate. A glint in his eyes betrayed his repressed excitement. When she was within arm's reach, he halted. He looked like he was ready to burst.

"You passed?" she asked, smiling.

He glanced down for a second as if that was not it. Passing the exam seemed like such a fleeting goal. "Yes," he murmured. Meeting her gaze again, the glint in his eyes returned. "I have been assigned to the Sixth."

She blinked, shocked. "What?"

"As Third Seat, but I have been given a position."

She gaped. "That is wonderful news." Concealing her confusion, she bowed. "Congratulations." She stood up and offered him a smile.

"You look worried."

She shut her eyes, and, inhaling a deep breath, she stepped to his side. Slowly, the two began to stroll down the beaten trail. "I am happy for you," she said, exhaling a long breath. When she opened her eyes, she caught him staring at her. He looked deflated. "I will worry now, but I know that you will be an asset to the Sixth."

"You will worry about me?" He sounded so perplexed—as if no one had ever worried for his sake.

She cocked her head and raised a brow. "Of course," she said somewhat irritated at the obviousness of his question. "I care for you." The latter part she had only meant to _think_, but his question nettled her. Realizing that she had blurted out her inner thought, her hands immediately flew up to her mouth, and she flushed. Hisana desperately wanted to pluck the words out of the air and stuff them back in her mouth. The words had been simple truth when spoken to Lord Kuchiki during tea. The simple truth, however, became perilous when revealed to the object of her affection.

She smothered the urge to check his face. Fear stayed her. Silently, her mind rattled off a "what if" list from hell. It was instinctive, and, when the flood came, it did not stop. Doubt filled her.

Byakuya took her trembling hand in his own. His touch was warm and steady, which elicited a shielded look from her. "Tea went well," he said quietly.

She inclined her head and gave him a sidelong glance. A brief glance. Her eyes dropped down to the ground. "Oh?"

"Assigning me to the division is tacit approval."

She gave a sweet downward smile. Locating her resolve after much ado, she lifted her head and stared him in the eye. "We should celebrate."

"How?" He seemed genuinely amused by her suggestion.

"Anyway you would like. Your desire is my desire." She beamed up at him.

His brows rose, and he appeared intrigued. "That is a provocative statement."

"Is it?" Her lips curved into a smile.

"Anyway I would like?"

She held his gaze. "Anyway."


	19. Wolves

**Chapter 18: Wolves**

Byakuya assumed seiza in front of Hisana's writing desk. The morning light colored the room in a pale gold. His brush was poised over a white blank page. He was prepared to practice his calligraphy. Indeed, he had forced Hisana to suffer through two hours of calligraphy lessons under Captain Aizen's tutelage. Hisana had not spoken a word about it. She expressed neither her happiness nor her regret. She merely obliged his desire.

Absently, he glanced across the room. She was resting peacefully. Her eyes closed in a deep slumber. She lay prone. Her back bare and exposed. The sun illuminated her skin. It looked inviting—the gold fine lines of her back; its delicate musculature; the way her body moved as she breathed in and out.

Byakuya pondered what his brush would feel like against her. The thought of the black ink sinking into her pale flesh proved enticing. Her skin was so soft and supple. It would be more pleasurable to write on than the hard scratchy surface of the cypress.

It was a stupid idea, his inner pragmatist rebuked. It would be messy. She would have to bathe after. It could get on the white linens. Those might have to be washed as well. She probably would think him foolish or a deviant.

Yet, his eyes traveled from the blank white page to her back. Finally, his gaze settled on her. He had always loved the way her back looked. Ever since the falls. Its lines were so delicate and sensual.

"Does Sir Byakuya wish to practice his calligraphy?" She watched him slyly from her pillow.

Byakuya started. His eyes widened slightly at her discovery. His lips parted in anticipation. The response never came.

"The way you were looking at me—I think you would rather use my skin as your canvass."

He blushed, shocked.

Hisana smiled. "I would indulge such a desire."

A breath caught in his chest. He looked and felt stricken that she had so easily discerned his thoughts. His lips parted defensively, but protests did not emerge.

She watched him through half-lidded eyes. Her smile widened, curving deviously. "You could indulge my desire then." She slid her hands under the pillow and raised her head and chest slightly, propping her weight on her forearms.

"It will—" he began.

Hisana, however, anticipated his objection. "I will bathe after."

"What would I write?" he retorted.

Her muscles slackened, and she rested her cheek against the chill of her pillow. She gave him a lingering look. A corner of her mouth bent up into a cat-like grin. "Whatever you want," she said, closing her eyes dreamily. "You should write the words you leave unspoken. I won't see them."

Byakuya was uncertain. The offer hung over him so temptingly. He wanted to submit. But, it seemed improper. They were locked away in her room, however. No one else would know. No one else would see. What _did_ lovers do when they locked themselves in rooms? What were they _supposed_ to do? He had a sinking feeling that his proposal was not a common activity for lovers; however, he did not find it terribly licentious.

Hisana closed her eyes while he deliberated. She knew that his curiosity would win in the end. She had a feeling. What she was unsure of was whether she would be awake when he acted on it. So, when she felt the soft bristles of horsehair against the skin of her back, she did not startle. It felt surprisingly good. His strokes were tentative at first, but, once the horror of submitting to his desires wore off, he began to pen the characters at an even pace. When he was finished with a character, the drying ink chilled her skin for a few seconds. Occasionally, he would lightly blow a breath across her back. She wondered what elicited such a response from him: Did he misapply the ink? Did the ink not take well to her skin? Was he worried that she was cold?

"There must be a lot of unsaid words." she said playfully when she felt him turn down the sheets from her lower back. She turned her head and watched his face. He wore a guilty expression as he met her gaze. She smiled. "It feels good."

He continued wordlessly. His heart fluttered violently in his chest. Part of him relished the feeling of the brush against her soft smooth flesh, and the smell of ink against skin—her skin, which usually smelled of white plum—and the way the words looks on her back. Part of him trembled in shock. The cautious part of his brain froze. It simply no longer functioned.

A single-minded intensity filled him. He worked hard to maintain his quality of work on her body. She deserved no less. Her skin, however, was prone to twitching when his brush passed over a particularly sensitive area. Sometimes she would squirm when he was mid-stroke. He was a quick study, however. He began to learn her fault-lines, and he adjusted his calligraphy appropriately.

Gently, he pressed his hand against her scapula. "Relax," he murmured. He caressed the taut muscle until it released its tension. Then, he began writing again.

When he finished, he sat with hands folded in his lap. He scrutinized his work, finding subtle flaws. He had not mastered his canvass yet…

For a brief few moments, he waited, letting the cool morning air dry the ink. When he was certain that the last pool of black had settled, he gently skated his fingertips across her flesh. It did not smear or bleed. His caress elicited a small sigh from Hisana, who shifted under his touch.

She felt warm and responsive. Lightly, he traced the lines of her back. Stopping at her hip, he dipped his head down and kissed her smooth skin. He tasted salt.

Hisana moaned at his boldness, and she turned over. A lazy smile lengthened her mouth, and she watched him longingly. Absently, she ran her hand through his hair. Stoking his scalp, she let her fingers wander while he kissed her. Muscle by tense muscle he gave into her until they became singular.

After sharing their bodies, they broke into a familiar formation. She pressed close against him with her chin cuddled against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her.

Tenderly, her fingers traversed the expanse of his chest and abdomen, making absent circular patterns. Male hardness. Years of rigorous training had sculpted his body. When her touch became too light or sudden, his muscles shifted under her fingertips. She watched his response eagerly. He was really a beautiful man, she mused. Her heart still quivered in her chest from the moments prior. She had hoped that the intensity of passionate love would wane. Respite, however, seemed a long way away. She was painfully lovesick. When their respective positions separated them for weeks on end, her body _ached_; her heart became cold and fickle. Thoughts of him occupied her mind when her day came to a lull. It was physically and mentally exhausting. But, when he was near, even when his attention was elsewhere, she found relief.

Hisana glanced up. He was staring into the middle distance. Worry lines creased his face, and his heart raced. "You look unsettled," she observed. "I rather enjoyed the calligraphy."

"You are not going to ask what I wrote?" He appeared confused.

Hisana smiled. "If they were words left unsaid then they were not spoken for a reason. You are a deliberate man."

Byakuya was somewhat astounded by her restraint and integrity. He was fully prepared to reveal his meaning. In fact, he had been trying to find the words to express the ones he had written. He had decided that he could not read the written words. It would have been too painful, too revealing.

He was beginning to become miserable without her. Her absence cut him deeply, and he wished to end the suffering. His duties had called him away for a few weeks, and he had missed her. The thought of her drifting from him pained him. Gin Ichimaru's words still haunted him. The words rattled around, echoing in bitter intonations in the dark spaces of his mind. Every time he glimpsed Kaien Shiba and Hisana together (which was frequent), he took the time to stare a little harder and to pay closer attention to their interactions. The two carried on quite familiarly, which perturbed Byakuya to no end. Kaien touched Hisana when they walked. A gentle brush of the hand would signal the direction. A hand against her shoulder stopped her. Kaien often walked so close to her that even the sleeve of his uniform touched her. They had a strange shorthand of looks and nods, and Byakuya loathed it. "How many lovers?" he began but was unable to complete the thought.

Hisana caught his gaze, and she gave him an understanding smile. "Lovers I entertained out of force or obligation? Or lovers that I submitted to of my own volition?"

"Force or obligation?" he echoed, confused.

Hisana's brows creased, and she looked abject. Averting her gaze, she stared into the ceiling. Inhaling a deep breath, she closed her eyes. "Yes, Sir Byakuya. A woman's life in the deepest districts is perilous."

His chest rose. "I," he began.

"No," she said in a shaky breath, "let me confide," she continued. She had never given a voice to her past. She could barely admit it to herself, but, then, Byakuya gave her the opportunity to speak it. Pain that she had been buried long and deep flew forward—exposed—in a single fell swoop. "Wandering Inuzuri, I became exhausted. I was hungry and tired, and I could hardly move. I collapsed near the riverside. I was certain that death awaited me. A band of men—five of them—descended upon me. They ravished my body in every way possible," her voice was slow, and it broke. After a pause pregnant with meaning, she managed to continue: "I endured after their torture. Their brutality was," her voice caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the memory, "extreme. I was convinced that I would not survive the night, but I was found, and I was saved." She shuddered. The violence played in her mind's eyes with breath-taking detail. She could almost feel her body shatter and bleed. She had not cried at the time. In fact, she had been so close to death when the men arrived that she had not struggled against their advances. She just laid there and took it, praying that death would come quickly.

"Who?" Byakuya asked, holding her protectively. "Who found you?"

"Kaien Shiba. His family hosted me during my convalescence, and they ensured my admittance into the Academy." She opened her eyes, and her gaze flew up to Byakuya's face. He watched her intently. "My _obligation_ to the Second required me to give my body to other men in exchange for information. It was a transaction. An excruciating transaction done for my division. I do not remember their names, their faces, or their numbers."

Byakuya lifted his head, and he shut his eyes. Pain stained his refined features. She could tell that he did not want her to continue, but she could not stop. Emotion burst forth from her like a deluge. "I have only taken two lovers willingly."

Byakuya opened his eyes. His lips sloped into a frown, and his heart sank. He had a suspicion of who the other lover was. "As have I," he murmured.

She blinked, and her cheeks flushed.

"I want to be with you forever," he said. The words had just spilled out so coarsely. He crafted them into a more poignant verse on her back. But, he could not stop the outpouring. His mind had stubbornly focused on that feeling for months.

"Sir Byakuya," she began. Her voice trembled. Her gaze and head fell. "I want the same." The words burned her throat on the way out, and they burned her ears upon hearing them. The truth was bitter and harsh. It was also saddened her. They could never be. Hisana had tried to disengage from the relationship. She had tried to occupy her mind with other thoughts—even thoughts of other men, hoping that another's affections would cure her of this strange ailment. None of it worked.

Taking her hand in his, he glanced down. "Would you consent to a permanent relationship?"

She nodded. "Of course." Briefly, she wondered if their current relationship status was not "permanent." It felt permanent to her. Other men never moved her in the same way, and she would never betray his trust. She felt that her body belonged to him singularly. Her affections belonged to him alone. She hoped that he felt similarly; however, she had only consented to a courtship. No words were spoken as to whether it was _exclusive_.

Shortly after she spoke the words, he was on his feet. Quickly, he shrugged on his robes, and he paused at her door.

Hisana watched Byakuya with a perplexed look. "Are you well, Sir Byakuya?"

"Yes," he said, bowing quickly. "Tonight," he said before disappearing out the door.

Hisana sat up, wondering what, exactly, had sent him rushing out the door.

. . . .

"You never told me how tea went," Miyako said between brush strokes. The two of them—Hisana and Miyako—were working feverishly on mounds of paperwork.

"You never told me how lunch went," Hisana responded impishly.

"Well, Lady Kokiden was very indignant about the whole affair. Apparently, Byakuya did not tell her personally. He wrote her _family_ about his decision to cease the miai. He did not speak to her prior to his decision, and he refused her correspondence after."

Hisana's jaw went slack, and her lips parted. She could not believe that he had been so heartless. "What?" she said in disbelief.

"Her pride is injured. Severely injured. She still hopes. She truly thinks that a union between you and Byakuya is impossible." Miyako turned her attention from her paperwork to Hisana. "I told her that it was not impossible. The rule is not binding upon nobles, and peasants are obliged to obey a noble's request. The act is not illegal per se. She was very angry with me. So angry, in fact, that she stormed out of the lunch."

Hisana glanced up at Miyako. A small lopsided smile curved a corner of her lips upward. "Thank you, Lady Miyako. I appreciate your advocacy." Hisana quickly considered Miyako's motivations for agreeing to speak to Lady Kokiden. Miyako was an admirable warrior, a kind superior, and a graceful mentor. But, this went beyond Miyako's call of duty. Briefly, Hisana wondered if this arrangement was mutually beneficial. Miyako's heart lay with Kaien. Hisana considered the possibility that Miyako thought she was competition for Kaien's affections.

"Tea went slightly better. Lord Kuchiki accused me of having designs on Byakuya. He then interrogated me—my birth, my rank, and the name of my sword. He did not storm out, however," Hisana said sheepishly.

"That does not seem half-bad," Miyako said. "You could not have done too poorly. Sir Kuchiki was promoted to his family's division."

Hisana nodded to herself. "He was very happy."

Miyako smiled. "You speak to him frequently?"

Hisana nodded. "Yes."

"How is Sir Kuchiki?" Miyako watched her. Interest sparked in her eyes. "He seems so-"

"Aloof?" Hisana finished.

Miyako closed her mouth and smiled her agreement.

"He is," she paused as if recalling a sweet memory.

"A pain in the ass," Kaien interrupted. "His reports are all at least 20 pages long. How does he expect anyone to read all of this?"

A grin pulled a side of Hisana's mouth up at her Vice Captain's intrusion. She did not correct him, perceiving it to be a sore subject. Kaien had managed to steel his tongue lately, and, for that, she was appreciative. "Good morning, Vice Captain Shiba."

"Hisana, read this and brief me on the relevant issues," he said, plopping the thick tome on her desk. It cracked the wood on impact.

Hisana chuckled. "Yes, sir."

"Miyako, we have training," he reminded her politely.

Eagerly, Miyako met his gaze, and she nodded her head. "I have not forgotten." Standing, she neared him at the door to the training field. Kaien drew the door back and let her pass ahead of him.

Turning back to Hisana, he watched her peel the report open. "We are on call for a mission tonight. The Sixth has a high priority target, and we are up in case it gets dicey. I want you and your squad on this," Kaien called to Hisana.

She glanced up from the report and smiled. "How late, Vice Captain?"

"Until 0500 hours."

"I will be on call."

"You can leave between 1500 and 1800 hours to rest."

She nodded, "Yes, sir."

"To _rest_," he enunciated the word pointedly.

'Not to gallivant around Inuzuri,' she mused. "I understand, sir," she responded.

. . . .

The chamber was dark, and the air was thick and stale. It felt oppressive. It always felt oppressive. "You called this meeting, Sir Byakuya," a gruff male voice reminded the young lord. "You said you have made your decision about the future lady of the house?"

"Please, little lord, tell us that you have chosen _wisely_ and _prudently_."

Byakuya bristled. "Wisely," and "prudently," had become code words for Lady Kokiden. Despite his explicit refusal months ago, his family was still hopeful that he would rekindle the dalliance. "I have chosen."

"Please, tell us that this decision has been given approval by Lord Ginrei Kuchiki." The underlying sentiment was, 'Please, don't waste our time.'

Byakuya's lips sloped down. "Yes," he hissed, "of course."

With baited breath, the high-ranking family members sat. All thirteen of them shot him menacing glares. Glares that indicated they were prepared for a fight.

"I have selected Hisana."

In unison, the entire chamber exploded into a fit of whispers, cries, some sobbing, and much ado. He did not repress the urge to shake his head. Byakuya barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. His family could be so predictable.

"You mean to tell me that our noble and wise leader has _approved_ of this match?"

Byakuya's jaws tightened, and his eyes narrowed. "Yes. Lord Kuchiki has taken tea with her, and he approved of the match when I brought my decision to his attention."

"Inconceivable!" Looking through the thick shadows, Byakuya could not discern who made the exclamation.

"Please, tell us that you have not made her the offer," one of the nobles cried. Her voice sounded desperate.

"No. I have not _yet_."

"Please, Sir Byakuya, I believe that I speak for the family when I beg you to reconsider. For a few months, please, think long and hard of this decision before you inflict us with it. It is summer, you will want to marry this fall or spring so there is no reason to rush it."

Byakuya's eyes deadened. "I believe you have misunderstood the purpose of this meeting. It is merely to _inform. _It is not to _deliberate_. I have made my decision already. There is nothing that you can do to deter me. Consider this a _courtesy._" Without a second glance, he turned on his heel and exited the chambers.

His words hung like a dare over the room.

. . . .

Hisana threaded her way through the market, selecting a few ingredients for a stew. She was trying to convince herself that she was tired. In her hand, she held a book on hollowification that she read while in line.

"Having an early dinner?"

She did not stop reading. "Yes, Sir Kuchiki," she said. A knowing smile spread her lips thin. "I am on call for one of your division's assignments. My Vice Captain was kind enough to spare me a few hours to eat and sleep before I go on reserve."

Byakuya observed the items in her basket. "You aren't eating well," he murmured. A tired look clung to him.

She glanced up at him. "It is a long day," she said softly, "I don't have much time to cook and sleep."

He took the basket from her. He nodded toward the vendor, who responded in kind, and he stepped out of line. "Come," he stated.

"I have to pay for that!" she said, catching up to his stride. "Sir Kuchiki-"

"Don't worry about that," he said in a clipped tone. "I have something important to ask you."

"I have something important to ask you." Struggling to keep up, she lengthened her gait.

He gave her a sidelong stare.

"Do you have access to the legislative history of the Central 46 Chambers?"

"Yes," he murmured, somewhat annoyed. "Why? Most of them should be publicly available."

"What about the sealed proceedings?"

His brows furrowed. "Yes. I have access to the sealed transcripts."

"Can I see some of them?"

"Which ones?" He was growing impatient, she could tell.

"I want to see the ones pertaining to Kisuke Urahara's trial."

Byakuya halted and grabbed her by the arm. Determined, he bent his head down near hers. "No. You drop this right now, Hisana." A harsh exacting look chilled her. She had never seen him so angry. "Whatever research you are doing terminate it."

She nodded. "Yes, Sir Kuchiki."

"Byakuya?"

Byakuya wheeled around to face Ginrei. He bowed politely. "Captain Kuchiki," he murmured.

Hisana bowed low when Ginrei's gaze trailed to her. "Good afternoon, Captain Kuchiki," she greeted softly.

"Byakuya, I expect to see you promptly at the Division."

Byakuya nodded. "Yes, Captain."

"Now, escort the Fifth Seat back to the Thirteenth and return to the Sixth straight away."

Byakuya glanced up at his grandfather, somewhat shocked that he allowed such an indulgence. "Yes, sir," he said, straightening.

Hisana bowed again when Ginrei turned to leave. Wordlessly, she began toward her division. She had a few strides on Byakuya before he trailed after her. Feeling him near, she whispered a soft, "I am sorry. You were going to ask something of me?"

He shook his head. "You are on call for my division?" he asked, seemingly perturbed by this sudden discovery.

She nodded her head. "Yes. It is customary when there is a high priority target to keep a division ready in case of emergencies." He seemed so agitated. She could not comprehend why.

"You will be on call?"

She nodded. "Yes, Vice Captain Shiba has chosen me and my squad for this assignment. Is that not satisfactory?"

Silence. A cold urgent type of silence drifted over them. Hisana could tell that he had words to say. She could almost see them hitch in his chest—perhaps in his heart. When they reached the Thirteenth's gate, he bowed. "I have a question—it is of great importance—to ask you when the mission is completed."

Hisana smiled. "Well, I will be monitoring the mission until it is accomplished." She bowed. "Be safe, Sir Kuchiki."

He reciprocated her action. "I will."

Tilting her head to the side, she watched him begin his way toward the Sixth. He seemed so nervous. It worried her.

. . . .

Sleep did not come easy or for any significant amount of time. Staying awake through the night was proving troublesome. Folding her hands in her lap, Hisana sat on a hill overlooking her men. To stave off boredom, they were sparring with each other in the moonlight. The harsh _cling-clang_ of metal filled her ears and resonated in her bones. At first, the motion and noise of swordplay held her attention, but she was slowly beginning to habituate. The tell-tale signs of weariness began to tug at her awareness. Tiredness stung her eyes, and she swore she could _feel_ the bags under her eyes swell.

"You look terrible!" one of her men called to her.

"I really appreciate that," she teased back.

He smiled and shrugged. "You should come down and train with us."

She grinned. "And exhaust me further?"

He shook his head playfully.

"I told you to get some rest," Kaien's strong voice sounded from behind her. Gently, he draped a blanket around her shoulders.

She glanced back at him. "I thought you had left for the night," she murmured, watching him take seiza next to her.

"You thought that I left while I ordered a sixth of my division to stay up until 5 in the morning?"

She smiled, knowingly. "I thought you had more faith in your men," she retorted.

He shook his head. "Here." He handed her a steaming cup of tea.

Hisana's lips quirked down as she gazed into the liquid. "Subterfuge," she kidded, "you are trying to ensure that I expire on the battlefield."

He smiled. "Never. The caffeine should rouse you."

She shook her head. "I think the warmth will do more damage than the caffeine will do good."

"Drink it," his voice was dry.

Her smile widened, and she bent her head over the cup. She took a quick sip. "How was your last mission? It lasted quite some time."

Kaien drew a long breath. His gaze settled on the training field, and his lips sloped down. "We accomplished what we set out to do."

She nodded her head. "But?" She sensed that the thought of the mission wounded him.

He shook his head. "It is done." Glancing over at her, a boyish look started in his eyes. "How are you doing? You have had several important missions lately."

She smiled into her tea. "I tend to make sure there is a plan."

"Is that so? It doesn't seem that way recently."

She bristled. The subtext hit her across the face before piercing her. "What does that mean?" she asked, tempering the edge to her voice with a joke.

His brows furrowed, and his lips stretched into a lopsided grin. Shaking his head, his eyes flicked over to the field where the squad was training. She knew perfectly well to what he was referring.

Hisana parted her lips and sucked in a gulp of air. She could tell that something bothered him, but she did not know what _exactly_ caused his sudden irritation. Ever since she collapsed during their training, he had become cold and distant. His heart, once so readable, was guarded.

"How is Miyako?" Hisana asked, hoping to alleviate his stress. Hisana had overheard stray remarks that the two had become involved.

Kaien gave her a sidelong glance, which seemed to say, 'You spoke to her today, how did she seem?' Exhaling a breath, he answered, "She is well." He bent his head over his cup of tea, and he drank.

"And the Captain?" Now, she was really fighting the oppressive silence that lingered on the fringes of their conversation.

"He suffered a fit early this morning, but he appears to be recovering. He should return to the division by the end of the week." Kaien's answer and tone were matter-of-fact.

Hisana nodded, hoping that she could capture his gaze. Kaien, however, did not submit. He continued to stare out onto the training field. The men's attacks were becoming increasingly slower and less heart-felt. The clanging of swords became softer and further apart.

Hungrily, her eyes lingered on his face, hopeful that they would catch a flicker of emotion. 'He is being stubborn,' she thought wearily to herself. 'Why? What happened? This change seems so sudden.'

"Is it true?" he asked. With narrow cold eyes, he peered down at her.

She tilted her head up. The moonlight tinted her face a light blue. Questioningly, she met his gaze. Her eyes were bright and clear. No trace of malice or spite colored her look. His question earnestly confused her.

"…what they say about you and …?" he continued, but he could not bring himself to say the name.

Hisana's eyes trailed down to his lap. Absently, she stared ahead, collecting her thoughts. "You know, you are one of my closest friends," she said softly, resting her hand on the top of his hand. He felt warm against her cool flesh. Shifting in her seat, she let the blanket hanging from her shoulders drop slightly over their hands, obscuring them from prying eyes. "You don't have to keep protecting me. You have done enough of that for several lifetimes."

Tracing the boney outline of her finger with his thumb, he glanced down at the blanket covering their hands. He lifted his head and stared into the middle distance. The muscles of his face tightened, and his chest rose and fell in a heavy breath. "What will I do with all that spare time?" he said after a few drawn out moments.

She laughed. Squeezing his hand, she inclined her head. "Yes, _all_ that time," she joked.

A lopsided grin pulled a corner of his mouth up. Their eyes locked. "You are blushing," he observed wryly.

Hisana felt her cheeks burn, and she defensively turned her head. "You are looking at me inappropriately," she retorted.

"_I_ am looking at _you_ inappropriately?" he said, feigning outrage at the very thought.

"Yes. _You_ are giving _me_ an inappropriate look," she teased back.

"I don't think-" The shrill scream of a siren stopped his words dead. Both of their heads bobbed up, and they sprang to their feet.

Hisana turned to her men, who stood frozen—some in mid-strike. She gave a sharp nod of her head. Understanding her look, they immediately stood at attention. Hisana glanced back at Kaien, who was discerning a message from a hell butterfly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We need to move out," he commanded.

Opening the portal to the World of the Living, Hisana took point position with the squad, and Kaien followed them out. The area was in a state of chaos. Kaien quickly began ordering the men to various areas where the spiritual pressure was spiking. He turned to Hisana, prepared to give her an order, but, before he could get the words out, she had locked onto Byakuya's inflamed reiatsu. It felt overwhelming, and they were several long kilometers away from his position on the field. She could not detect Captain Kuchiki. Anywhere. Horror sank her stomach.

"Hisana," Kaien called over the commotion. He knew that look on her face. She was not present—not paying him any heed. Furtively, her eyes darted around the field, and she was off before he could finish. "Hisana!" he yelled after her. "Dammit," he muttered, giving chase.

She was heading to into the thick of it.

Spryly, she darted across the pitted terrain. She had not seen so many hollows pulled from so many directions in her life. Tearing through several fell beasts with her sword, she pressed onward. Her heart hammered in her chest at a steady beat. Her muscles tense, and her hand pressed against the course stitching of her hilt. She could almost taste blood.

Reflexively, she stopped, feeling the waning spiritual pressure of the Sixth's captain. Her breath caught in her throat as she took to Captain Kuchiki's side. 'What the hell happened?' her mind kept asking in a loop. "Captain," she murmured. Her fingers fluttered over the deep wound in his chest. Checking his face, she grimaced. His skin was grey and perspiration beaded on his brow. His eyes looked weak.

"Stay with me, Captain," she said, loosening his uniform. Peeling back the fabric sticky and thick with blood, she applied healing kido. "Stay with me, Captain," she repeated over and over, hoping that with practice her voice would steady. It did not. "Come on, look at me," she said. She placed a hand against his cheek. He had gone ice cold. "Please, Captain," her voice became pleading. Anxiously, she scanned for a member of the Fourth. No one. Realizing that danger was nigh, she quickly propped the Captain up. She looped his arm around her shoulders, and she pulled him backward.

He was too heavy. Her body buckled. Not even the sudden rush of adrenalin could invigorate her strained muscles. Yet, she continued to drag him back. Looking up, she saw a hollow encroaching. It locked onto the Captain, likely sensing his waning spiritual energy. She lowered her head and gave the foul creature a minatory glare. If she reached for her sword, she would surely risk dropping the Captain or stumbling. Either consequence could be dire.

"Hisana!" Kaien said, skidding to a halt in front of her. Reflexively, he blocked the hollow's strike. Downing the beast, he turned to find her struggling under Ginrei's weight. His jaws tensed, and he scowled. Ascertaining the situation, he quickly helped her move the captain.

"Is the Fourth even here?" she grunted.

"Yeah," he answered. "I think I saw them over there," he said jerking his chin to the left. Slowly, they inched forward until three members of the Fourth surrounded them. With military precision, the Shinigami quickly relieved Hisana and Kaien, taking Captain Kuchiki and placing him on a stretcher.

The instant that Hisana was free, she broke. Kaien swiftly snaked an arm around her waist before she tumbled forward. "Hisana," he murmured against her ear, "are you?"

She shook her head. "Vice Captain, please," she said, glancing in the direction where she could feel Byakuya's reiatsu emanating. Grasping Kaien's arms, she stood. Her legs shook under her weight, but she took a step forward. "Please."

. . . .

Chaos. White sterile chaos. Hisana's attention pulled in all directions. She sat up on the bed, and, turning down the sheets, she shifted her legs off the side of the mattress. Sliding down, the floor was cold against her feet. Quietly, she padded across the room scarcely evading charging stretchers, nurses, and staff.

Biting her lip, she took to the bedside of one of her men. He stared up at her from the gurney. "Is everything?" she began, but the man stopped her with a raised hand.

"Vice Captain," he rasped out, pointing to a small room. She nodded. She gave him a long worried look and a bow of her head before turning toward the direction he pointed.

"Vice Captain?" she said softly, peaking into the room.

Kaien sat up on the bed. Strange tubes and wires chained him in place. He was conscious, and his eyes were bright and alert. "Hisana," he greeted, smiling. He looked at her as if she was the only person occupying his thoughts so, when she entered, she was shocked to find Miyako seated in a chair.

"Hisana," she murmured, standing.

Hisana hesitated for a moment before proceeding. "Miyako," she said, bowing. "How are you, Vice Captain Shiba?"

He briefly glanced over at Miyako before turning his attention back to Hisana. "I am fine. The Fourth is just overzealous," he said, raising an arm tethered by IVs.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

"_You_ look pretty rough," he kidded.

Reflexively, she touched a ragged wound above her eyebrow. The Fourth had patched it with a bandage, but the skin was swollen and hot to the touch. The laceration marked a narrow escape she made with one of her men. She had pulled his unconscious body out of the line of fire. She endured the attack to ensure his survival.

"I've seen worse," she shrugged. "Any word on?"

He shook his head before she could get all the words out. "Still in the OR."

Her lips sloped into a frown. "That is no good."

"You owe me," Kaien said, a lazy smile parting his lips.

Hisana's brows rose. "Oh?"

"I saved your boy," he said nodding his head to the room to his right.

She smiled. "I doubt that is the story he will tell," she teased.

"If his story does not include the words, 'Kaien Shiba saved my ass' know that he is lying," he said sarcastically.

She chuckled. "Thank you, Vice Captain."

"Vice Captain, rest," Miyako said in a low tone. She gave him a disapproving look. "Hisana, you too."

Hisana could detect that Miyako wanted some time alone with Kaien. "Vice Captain," she said, bowing. "Miyako." She bowed again in the Third Seat's direction. "Excuse me."

She crossed the threshold and turned to the right. "Sir Kuchiki," she murmured, bending her head around the corner. Byakuya looked worse than Kaien. His chest rose and fell in shallow ragged breaths. His skin was pale and waxy, and his eyes opened for a few brief seconds before closing.

Sitting by his bed, she took his hand in hers. She _wanted_ to ask him what the hell happened. Something horribly wrong had transpired. What, exactly, she did not know. Inhaling a deep breath, she opened her mouth. She could not bring herself to ask the questions that burned in her mind. The sound of her voice would have been harsh and coarse. She could not bear to break the stillness of the room.

Her head hung low, and she pursed her lips together. Closing her eyes, she said a small prayer for him and his family. A warm touch against her brow, however, drew her from her solemn contemplation. Her eyes flew open.

"You're injured," he whispered.

She fought back a smile. "_You're_ injured," she said softly, "_I_ have a scratch."

He closed his eyes at her observation. The worry lines faded from his face, and he looked tranquil.

She squeezed his hand. "What happened?"

He struggled to open his eyes.

Immediately, she regretted her question. "You don't have to—if you don't."

He observed her through tired eyes. "The enemy was unusual," he managed.

She shook her head, silencing him with a small kiss against his lips. "Shh," she hushed him, pressing her head to his.

"My grandfather," he murmured.

"He is here. Alive," she said.

He gave a slight almost imperceptible nod of his head before closing his eyes. "Thank you."

She shook her head. Seated in the chair, she continued to hold his hand until a nurse scurried across the threshold of the room. "Out, out, out," she said, giving Hisana a harsh stare and pointing to the door. "Sir Kuchiki needs his rest. No distractions," she said, thrusting her head in the direction of the door. "Out, out, out," she repeated. "No visitors. Strict Kuchiki family orders."

Hisana stood, reluctant to leave. Nearing the threshold, she turned and gave him one last look.

. . . .

"The ascension ritual?" Hisana sat with her brow bent over the news.

"You haven't heard?" Kiyone asked in her usual perky voice. "I thought you would have been the first to know!" Seeing Hisana's sharp look, the Fourth Seat quickly began to back pedal. "I mean all things _considered._"

Hisana shook her head. "No," she sighed, averting her gaze to the open door, "I haven't heard anything." 'For weeks,' she added in her head. She had seen Byakuya briefly a week ago. He caught her on her way back from Inuzuri. He seemed tired and tightlipped. When she inquired as to his grandfather's well-being, he merely shook his head. They strolled briefly into the market. He had seemed so preoccupied—almost cold.

"Here," Kiyone said, handing her a letter. "I bet it's an invitation."

Hisana glanced down. The envelope was stamped with the Kuchiki family seal. It was addressed from the manor. A chill ran through her when she touched the stiff paper. Bile rose in her stomach, and she swallowed the urge to wretch. The sensation flared in her so suddenly that she turned her cheek to the Fourth Seat.

"Miss Hisana, are you unwell?" Kiyone asked, tilting her head to the side.

Shivering, Hisana shook her head. "I am fine," she murmured, shielding her mouth with the sleeve of her uniform. "Thank you," she said, bowing her goodbye.

Hisana was no oracle, but she had a strong intuition that the missive bore bad news. Stepping into the office, she sat at her desk and opened the letter. A line in and she began to violently shake. Her eyes burned, and she repressed a sob that grew in the back of her throat. Folding the letter back into the envelope, she felt her brain beginning to shut down from the stress and shock of the words. Her feelings, once so enflamed while reading the page, began to diminish until she felt numb—dead on the inside.

Time became constant in her depression. Minutes felt as long as hours. She was unsure of whether she had been sitting there for seconds or days when Miyako and Kaien crossed into the office. Both of them were sharing an affectionate look when they spied Hisana, sitting stone-faced.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Miyako noted.

Hisana lifted her head. "Oh, no. I am just out of sorts. Excuse me." She stood, bowed, and turned toward the training field.

The day felt like a blur. Her mind either blocked out or blended each moment into one disjointed picture. It all ran together like fresh ink on wet paper. Despondent, she found herself seated quietly at her personal desk in her room. The gentle amber flicker of a candle sent shadows dancing across the white blank page in front of her. Gripping a brush between her fingers, she shook. It began with a tremble and spiraled into violent shaking. Clenching her jaws, she began to focus on her breathing. 'In. Out. In. Out," she repeated to herself, slower and slower. Feeling the tremors subside, she glanced down at the stark white paper. Words seemingly appeared in front of her, pouring from her heart. She wanted to expose her pain, her sorrow, her quiet rage, but her words were reserved and polite. 'Too polite,' she rebuked herself as she read her work, 'He does not deserve my kindness.'

_Sir Kuchiki,_

_ I feel a great sense of regret at your decision, but I understand your explicit rejection of my affection. I thank you for all of the kindness you have shown me. I wish you only the purest of happiness._

_Truly,_

_H._

Staring down into his letter, she winced. Beautiful calligraphy proved to be the sharpest blade of all. Her heart bled, she was sure.

. . . .

Byakuya's young attendant, Sheh, sat taking notes for his master. The discussion? The ascension ceremony. Byakuya sat at his sitting mat in front of his writing desk. He looked and felt drained. The weeks since the battle had not healed him completely. His duties to his family and division prevented him from a full recovery. Every time he so much as _thought_ about rest, his family would occupy his exhausted mind with ten more fleeting _arbitrary_ tasks. Byakuya was beginning to understand why Ginrei stayed at the Sixth's barracks so frequently.

In his fatigue, his mind wandered, flitting from thought to thought. He lifted his head and stared at his attendant. There was something—one _last_ something—to say. He was certain. What that something was, however, eluded him.

Sensing his master's enervation, Sheh offered Byakuya a smile. "I will keep the notes open," he said with an assuaging look.

Byakuya closed his eyes for a moment. "We need to confer about the funeral," he murmured. It was the _last_ item for discussion. He had neglected the topic for as long as he could. It simply needed to be addressed.

Sheh's lips twitched, and he bowed his head in reverence. He started a new page.

"What do I need to do?" Byakuya asked. His shoulders slumped slightly, and his head dropped. He hid it well, but the tell-tale signs of despair marked him.

Sheh glanced up at Byakuya. "I will handle it with the manor's steward," he said softly. "We will bring you the preliminary matters tomorrow."

"Tonight," Byakuya corrected.

Sheh shot Byakuya a worried look. The attendant, however, did not express his concern for his master's health, thinking it improper. "Is there anything else, milord?"

Byakuya averted his gaze to the door in front of him. A shadow lingered in front of it. Likely, another servant waiting for them to finish speaking. "Do you think she?" he began wearily. He stopped before making the request. The night was upon them, and he wondered if such a demand was feasible. He wondered if he would have the time.

Sheh perked up. With a knowing look, he nodded. "I can procure her from the Thirteenth," he murmured. "She misses you."

Byakuya's brows knitted together. "She misses me?" he repeated. His question seemingly asked: How can you know for sure?

Reading his master's expression, Sheh smiled. "I spoke to her the other day in the market."

Byakuya watched the attendant with a probing stare. "Continue."

"She pulled me aside, and she inquired of you and your family. She seemed particularly grief-stricken when she learned of the Lord's health."

Byakuya shut his eyes and breathed a sigh. He was about to respond when the door to his room peeled back. "Lord Kuchiki," a servant called from the threshold.

He nodded his head, and the woman obeyed his unspoken order. In her hand was a small white missive. "It is from the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat."

Byakuya shot her a questioning look. Hisana rarely wrote him, and, when she did, she always gave it his attendant. Reaching out, he took the letter and made quick use of the seal. Pulling the missive out, he unfolded the paper.

"Lord Kuchiki," Sheh called, seeing Byakuya's color drain. His master appeared deeply disturbed. Byakuya's jaws tensed, and the tired look in his eyes sharpened into an icy glare. With a flick of his wrist, he tore the letter into fourths and dropped the scraps on his desk. Without hesitation, he stood and crossed the room.

Sheh felt the stinging chill of his master's wake. Glancing over at the maid, the two shared a confused look. Sheh waited a few tense moments before reaching across the desk to read the letter. Fitting the torn page together, he read the words uncomprehendingly. "This cannot be," he murmured. The maid glanced over his shoulder and gasped in horror.

"Miss Hisana has rejected his courtship?" she stated. Her eyes widened, horrified. "How could she? Now of all times? When the Master is so distraught?"

"This is not her voice," Sheh said, unable to comprehend the harsh and explicit tone of the letter. "These are not her words."


	20. Overflow

**Chapter 19: Overflow**

Rage swelled in his stomach. Poised over a blank page, Byakuya gripped the brush in his hand. Reflexive flowing motions spawned sprawling text. Words upon words poured out of him. He reached for a second, a third, and a fourth sheet of paper. The feelings did not subside. Anger, resentment, bereavement, a chilling sadness lingered deep within, tormenting him. The reason and logic that so carefully locked his emotions had been broken. Thoroughly and completely broken. He desperately sought respite in any form or fashion.

Setting the brush down, he tried to read his work, but his mind grew restless. The sweltering heat and humidity of a fresh rainstorm slicked his skin. His robes clung to him. Agitated, he shifted under the stubborn fabric before loosening his garment and shrugging the material away.

A ruffle of sheets against sheets next caught his attention. He turned his head and stared sidelong at his futon. Sorrow filled him first. His stomach dropped, and he shut his eyes briefly. Then, regret surged through him, bathing his fraying nerves and unraveling what little of him had been resolute.

Very little of him had been resolute, he thought mournfully. Opening his eyes, he found that his mind had not played a horrible trick on him. She was there, sleeping and partially nude.

The wrong woman lay in his bed.

Rumpled linens mounded like snow around her pale skin and dark hair. If he looked too quickly or too drunkenly, his eyes would perceive what his heart wished was so. Desperately, he wanted things to be as they were, but things would never be as they once were. She was an imposter, and he was no longer afforded the missteps of being heir apparent.

Sucking in a deep breath, he felt the air expand his lungs. He held the feeling a beat longer, letting his intercostal muscles fatigue. A slow burn. Exhaling released some of the tension in his chest, but the intense simmer of enflamed rage and sorrow remained, hammering him deeply and endlessly. He had sought a cure in various forms. Drink, flesh, words, training, work—all proved to be temporary solutions.

He wondered if submitting to a cold unfeeling heart was part of becoming a leader.

Briefly, his gaze lingered on the futon. He pulled his collar to its proper place. Standing, he grabbed his Zanpakutō on the way out of his room.

. . . .

"Stop moping," Kaien said, glaring down at Hisana in a pointed but measured look. His eyes narrowed.

She continued to watch her men train. Remoteness clung to her countenance like wet silk on skin. The world came to her in bright headache-inducing color. She longed for the greys and blacks of her bedroom. She wanted to sleep the month away and hope that her feelings would morph into something other than self-loathing and melancholia.

"You look ill," he observed, sliding closer to her. Since "demanding taskmaster" had proven ineffectual, Kaien tried another approach—caring. Kaien, however, was not very good at _caring_ in the paternal sense. His words sounded hollow even to his ears, and his facial muscles contorted into an unfamiliar configuration.

Only his words—stale and devoid of emotion—reached Hisana. So consumed with sadness, her brain filtered out his inflection. She did not spare him a glance as she considered his colorless assessment. She could not deny that he was correct. She neither felt nor appeared well. She could not sleep. She could not eat. She could only muster the energy to work, to search for her sister, and to brood. All of which she did half-heartedly. "I feel well enough, Vice Captain," she struggled to speak. With each movement and with each word, she felt exponentially more spent. The slightest effort depleted her.

Kaien frowned. "That look is not fitting for a Shinigami," he murmured.

Tiredly, she gazed up at him. "My apologies," she said. The fight had left her eyes.

"Come on," he fumed, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her behind him. "We are going to train," he said, catching Miyako's tangled look as they passed her on the field.

Hisana gave an indiscriminate cry, but he did not seem to notice or care. "Please," she managed, "Vice Captain, please." A thousand excuses flew to mind. She wondered if he had anticipated all of them. 'Likely,' she mused, submitting to his sudden whim.

"Unsheathe your sword," he directed. Planting his hands on his hips, he stood in a wide stance. His weight settled evenly over his legs, and his center of gravity was low. He gave her a stern look.

Hisana reached for the hilt of her blade in a sluggish movement. Her lips turned down, and she gazed lugubriously in his direction. Not at him, but slightly beyond him. Withdrawing the blade from its sheath, she assumed a half-hearted battle posture.

He launched a low-level kido attack. She barely escaped it. Her poor performance earned her a caustic remark. "Hisana!" Kaien growled, "That almost hit you! What are you doing?"

Raising her blade, she glimpsed herself in the metal and lowered it. Her despondency turned to dissatisfaction. "Not everyone likes to hit things when they're upset, Vice Captain."

"It is not about hitting things," he rebuked. It was about distracting one's self.

She turned her cheek to the severity of his tone, and she stared into the forest. He launched another kido attack, and she dodged it. Her movements were crisper—more sincere.

"You cannot be this broken up about Byakuya," he chastised. Initially, Kaien had refused to believe that the cause of her depression was relational. The realization that it was, however, stung him. "It's not like…"

She inclined her head and gave him a bored look. "It's not like," she echoed, defensively "what?"

Kaien instantly regretted his comment.

"_It's not like_ a peasant could," she began in a tense sing-song voice.

"No," he growled, flicking his gaze skyward. Dark clouds had gathered over their heads, threatening to burst at any moment. "_It's not like_ it was going to last for _either_ of you." That was it. Seemingly, the sharpness of his words had split the clouds open. Rain began to fall in sheets, washing the world below.

Hisana sheathed her sword and stared down at the ground. Her eyes lingered on the raindrops pelting the soil. The water hit with such force that it scattered upon impact. When she returned her attention to Kaien, she saw his lips move. He was speaking. She watched the sequence of sounds escape his mouth, but the rain was too loud. Her brain, in its exhaustion, did not want to comprehend him.

She took a few steps forward and stopped inches from him. She bowed her head. Certain that she was going to bid her farewell, she merely stared up at him. But he did something unexpected. He moved closer. The space between them closed. She followed his movements, hoping to make out his intention since her brain refused to process sounds beyond the rain.

He bent his head down near hers. Instinctively, she reached up. The movements were familiar—almost reflexive—she was stretching to press her mouth against his. A kiss. The sensation of flesh against flesh had calmed her nerves when she shared a kiss with Byakuya. Part of her wanted to believe that a kiss would provide the respite she craved—respite from the maelstrom that raged inside her.

Drawn to her, he dipped his head lower, but she hesitated. "Miyako," she whispered. The thought of betrayal ripped her heart open.

"Miyako," he repeated, nodding. Despite his acknowledgment, he did not retreat. He stared down at her. Their eyes locked.

Situational breezeblocks had prevented them from connecting for years. Miyako, however, had proven to be more than a barrier. Kaien truly loved Miyako, Hisana was certain. She was also sure that Kaien could find happiness with Miyako where he would only find despair at her hands. But, like a sailor following a siren's call to certain bloody doom, there he was. Irrationally, he stared deep into her dark blue eyes.

She placed a tentative hand against his cheek as if to stay him. Her lips parted. Words at the ready, however, caught on her breath—a breath that was stolen by a sudden chill. Drenched to the bone, a violent shudder sent rhythmic contractions through her whole body. She had gone cold. Her hands, feet, and extremities numbed. The sensation of a thousand pinpricks roved up and down her arms.

Kaien pulled her into a tight embrace. His warmth soothed her body and provided shelter for her tired mind. Her shivering diminished, and she glanced up. His head was bent over hers, and she inhaled a breath, prepared to thank him.

She did not say the words.

She completed the betrayal with a kiss.

Kaien eagerly reciprocated. His warm mouth against hers gave her relief. Her thoughts, usually so preoccupied, went to black. "We can never speak of this to—" she could not bring herself to say the name.

He nodded, continuing.

"This never happened," she said between breaths.

She closed her eyes, and the rain continued to pour.

. . . .

The heat of summer began to fade to the chill of autumn. The trees, once so green and lush, looked as if they had been set on fire. Splendid oranges, yellows, reds, and violets painted the leaves. Hisana, however, felt like winter. Her mind plunged into a drowned world where she could focus on very little, and the pleasures of autumn went by the wayside.

Tiredly, she crossed the bridge from Rukongai to Seireitei. It was late, and her hours of searching for her sister proved fruitless. Yet, she dragged on—weary step by weary step over the rickety planks of the bridge.

It was not her usual path. She avoided the covered bridge now. The pain of memories of a past love proved too much. It had been almost a month now, and the blow still took the breath from her and knotted her stomach. She missed him, but the feelings were slowly dimming like a dying fire.

"Well, if it isn't the errant Fifth Seat of the Thirteenth."

Hisana frowned, 'Gin Ichimaru.' She had passed him without a second glance. Halting, she turned. "Vice Captain," she murmured and bowed her head. He stood on the bridge gripping the rail and _smiling_ into the distance. She wanted to chastise him for his rude acknowledgment, but she restrained herself. Turning back around, she took a step forward.

"Your division hasn't sent you on a mission in some time," he observed. There was an edge to his voice.

She glanced up. Gin was correct. Kaien had refused to staff her. She had been relegated to paperwork. It was a prudent decision on Kaien's part. She was in no mood to fight, and there had been a lull in work. "What's it to you?" she snorted.

"Nothing. Just wondering why."

Hisana's brow furrowed. She highly doubted that any "wondering" that Gin did was in her favor.

"Wondering why you go to Rukongai without a mission," he continued, peering at her from the corner of his narrow eyes.

She glared at him briefly. It sound like he was waiting, waiting for her to make a misstep. His demeanor seemed menacing. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't."

She shook her head before turning away. A few steps later, the sound of his voice stopped her.

"If the Thirteenth ain't got no assignments then Captain Aizen could use you."

She gave him a questioning look. 'What did that _mean_?'

Gin's smile lengthened, and he shrugged.

Briefly, Hisana considered whether he had made some sort of peace offering. She cast the thought aside when she saw the glint in his eyes. What was Gin Ichimaru trying to do? She scowled. "I'll take it under consideration," she stated drily.

"_Please do_."

Brushing off Gin's stray recommendation, she continued toward her division. Some event had backed up foot traffic in the market. She threaded her way through shifting spaces. The roar of the crowd muted as she drew into her head. Careful was her step, and she kept her eyes to the ground.

"…little heartbroken Hisana."

A frosty chill tore through her, locking her step. Heavy, her foot stuck to the ground, and she reeled toward the sound of the female's voice. Her heart had ascertained the identity of the speaker long before her brain could accept the truth.

Lady Kokiden stood sneering down at her. Her red, red lips twisted into a wolfish grin, and her bright eyes lit with malevolence. 'Of course she is the gloating type,' Hisana sighed inwardly. Women like her only wanted to _things_ that would bestow upon them high status. Hisana wondered if Lady Kokiden even cared about Byakuya in any meaningful way or if Byakuya was just another lovely piece to add to Lady's Kokiden collection of lovely pieces.

Hisana lifted her head, gazing down. "Lady Kokiden," she said stiffly. Her dissatisfaction seemed to please the noble.

"Little tattered Hisana," she murmured, cupping Hisana's face with a gentle touch. She feigned a look of concern. Her expression was so exaggerated that Hisana considered whether Lady Kokiden felt for anyone other than herself. "…with your fraying rags and earnest sincerity. Maybe I will invite you into my house as a servant. You could watch _us_."

Hisana's eyes widened, and her stomach dropped. She scanned the marketplace with a shaky look. Her gaze met Sheh, who stood a few feet behind his master. He tilted his head as if he was reading her horror. Instinctively, he brushed Byakuya's sleeve, catching the noble's attention.

Byakuya turned to his body servant, annoyed. His lips prepared a scolding verse as he followed his attendant's look. "Kokiden," he spat.

Hisana caught his gaze. She wondered if he could detect her intense sorrow. For the first time in a month, they connected. He seemed pained, and she wondered why. He had rejected her. 'Maybe it's because he is condemned to a life with _her_,' she distracted herself with the musing. She closed her eyes, and her ears filled with the shrill sound of Lady Kokiden's voice. One last verbal assault: "Yes, Lord Kuchiki. You are right. I should not waste my kindness on thankless peasants."

Hisana turned on her heel.

. . . .

Saddened by the spectacle at the market, Sheh trailed after the nobles with Lady Kokiden's female body servant at his side. The female attendant looked over at Sheh. Misery stained her gaze. "I have liquor," she whispered, smiling slyly.

For a moment, Sheh wondered if the woman was teasing him. "Really?" he murmured.

She nodded her head eagerly. She pulled out a thin metal flask, and she took a long swig. Sheh almost died of laughter at the sight. "You'll need this to make it through the night, trust me," she said, stuffing the container into his hands.

Fumbling, he grasped the flask tightly and shook his head. He had a sinking feeling that his master would not approve. "No, no," he said gently, "I really cannot."

"_Trust me_. If I was not drunk for my job, I would have killed myself eons ago."

His eyes widened at the woman's confession. She seemed so young to be so abject. "Maybe later," he lied to appease.

She nodded. Staring distantly into her Lady's back, she mentioned, "One of the attendants killed herself last week."

"One of _Lady Kokiden's_ attendants?" Sheh almost choked on his own spit.

"Yes," she said, leaning her head closer. "The Lady is… a _monster_."

Sheh's eyes widened. Why was she telling him these things? While it was true that he saw her frequently, he was not particularly close to the female servant. Was she trying to give him some advice? A heads up?

"How is your master?" Her words slurred together, colliding into a semi-coherent question.

"He is austere, but he is fair."

She nodded her head. "You are lucky. I hope when they marry to become the nanny to their children so that I do not have to serve the Lady," she said hopefully. "I don't know if I can suffer her much longer."

"Your liver will fail," Sheh joked, gesturing to her flask.

The female servant chuckled.

"What are you prattling on about?" Lady Kokiden growled, looking back at the servants.

Immediately, Sheh and the female attendant separated. Both glanced down at the ground, and a somber silence fell over them. Byakuya gave his attendant an irritated sidelong glance.

When they reached the teahouse, Lady Kokiden and her servant excused themselves briefly. Byakuya stood with Sheh, awaiting the Lady's return. "You may leave for the night," Byakuya stated. His voice sounded mechanical and unfeeling.

"Milord?" Sheh murmured. Fear belied his look. He worried about his master. Byakuya had become colder not only in countenance but in spirit. He was sullen, wandering the doldrums.

"You are excused," Byakuya reiterated.

Sheh shot his master a worried look. "You miss her," he stated absently.

Shocked, Byakuya turned to his servant. An indignant look spread across his face. "Proceed like that again and your dismissal will be permanent," Byakuya stated in a quiet but commanding tone.

"My apologies," Sheh bowed deeply. Implicitly, the Kuchiki attendants were forbidden to speak of Hisana. He wanted to test that unstated directive. "I did not mean to offend." Accepting his Lord's generosity, he excused himself.

Crossing into the market, his feet led him in the direction of the Thirteenth. Something had been nagging him since he surreptitiously read the letter from Hisana. He had another theory.

. . . .

Crossing the threshold to her office, Miyako greeted Hisana with a hesitant look. "Good evening," she murmured before returning to her deskwork.

"Good evening," Hisana replied, sitting at her desk.

A rift had grown between the two women. Hisana contemplated the cause of their distance. She wondered if she had become more reserved since the incident with Kaien in the rain. She did not think that was the case. She was remarkably good at compartmentalizing her feelings.

Miyako gave Hisana a furtive glance, and she straightened. Drawing a deep breath, she aired her concern, "What happened when you went to train with Vice Captain Shiba a few weeks ago?" Miyako's brow creased, and her lips pulled into a thin line. She was apprehensive.

Hisana lifted her head. "We trained."

"It began to rain shortly after you left."

Hisana nodded her head.

"But you were gone for _hours_ afterward," Miyako continued.

"We took shelter from the storm."

Miyako looked away. Her gaze settled on a deep nothing before she shut her eyes. Pain ravished her features.

Silently, Hisana watched the Third Seat. Her heart broke. She had never wished misery on Miyako.

"Do you love him?" Miyako asked in a breathy voice.

Hisana cocked her head to the side, and she began drafting a response. It was a question that she never asked of herself. "I love his friendship," she said after a pregnant pause. A tense silence blanketed the room. "He knows things about me that I cannot yet admit to myself."

Miyako's pained expression diminished, but sorrow still lingered in her eyes.

"We are not competitors for the Vice Captain's affections," Hisana said quietly reading Miyako's look. "His heart belongs to you."

Miyako gave Hisana a weak smile. "I am sorry. I am being heartless everything considered," she said nodding in Hisana's direction.

"I have been pretty pitiful." Hisana's words had a self-deprecating tenor.

Miyako's smile widened, and she shook her head. "I would have been no better." Adjusting her gaze, Miyako added, "But you seem to be improving."

Hisana nodded. "Some."

"Vice Captain Matsumoto has been pestering me to take you out. I just know that Matsumoto can be a little," Miyako paused, deliberating on the appropriate adjective, "_much_. Especially when you are feeling unwell."

Hisana smiled grimly. "I would like that," she said.

Miyako's face brightened.

After a few hours in the office, Miyako shooed Hisana to prepare for the evening. Winding her way to her quarters, Hisana froze the moment she spotted Sheh. Confusion marked her. "Is something wrong?"

"You still care for Lord Kuchiki," he remarked, lingering by her door.

Hisana's brows pulled together, and she frowned. "Why?"

He cut her off, "I saw the way you looked at him in the market."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"He loves you."

Hisana's lips parted. "What?" she said almost imperceptibly.

"He is miserable in your absence."

She turned her head. The wound that had barely begun to heal tore open. Grief broke over her, and she fought back the urge to cry. "I don't understand," she said, exasperated. "He rejected my affections."

Sheh tilted his head. "What?" he asked in disbelief. "When?"

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. "In a letter. Why are you—"

"He wrote a letter?"

She nodded. "Why?"

"Where is it?" he interrupted her.

She threw him a hurt look before obliging. Flinging back her door, she crossed the room to her desk. She dropped to her knees in front of her writing desk, and, with a sharp motion, she pulled the drawer open. She plucked the letter out of her things and handed it to him.

Eager, he snatched it from her hands and bent down the page. His eyes hungrily roamed the missive. He shook his head. "My Lord did not write these words."

Hisana refused to look at Sheh. Her pain was too intense. "He must have."

"Did you write him a letter?"

Hisana nodded mournfully. "In reply. It was a short acknowledgment that he wished to sever his ties. Nothing more."

Sheh lifted his head. "He received a letter from you nearly identical to this one."

Hisana's gaze flew up to the servant. "What?" she nearly gaged on her own shock. "I never wrote anything like _that_ in my life!"

He shook his head. "Nor did my Lord." Holding the letter up near his head, he looked down at the page. "May I?"

She nodded. "I have no use for it." Before she could get the words out, he had disappeared.

Hisana exhaled a breath. 'If he did not write those words then that means…' She shook her head. It no longer mattered. Byakuya had chosen another. Resentment filled her for a second before waning to a hollow emptiness.

Sluggishly, she shut her drawer and stood. She suddenly did not feel like seeing anyone else, but she had agreed to go out with Matsumoto and Miyako. It took a few moments to prepare herself. Nearing the door to her room, she paused. It took every fiber of her body and brain to pull the door back. Her brain forced her feet to move, but her heart put on the breaks every third step.

The ten-minute trek to the Pour House Inn and Spirits took thirty.

"Hisana!" Miyako greeted from across the small bar. She gave Hisana a bright smile. Matsumoto turned and waved.

Hisana wanted to hide. Swallowing her sorrow, she compelled her feet to take a few measured steps forward. "Hello," she murmured, taking a seat.

Matsumoto had already started to drink. She had moved on from cups to her own full decanter of rice wine. "Here," she said, beginning to pour Hisana a cup from the decanter near Miyako, "drink, drink, drink," she said rapidly.

Hisana downed the cup in a gulp.

Both Matsumoto and Miyako gave each other looks of astonishment. "That's my kind of girl," Matsumoto chuckled, refilling the cup.

"Hisana, are you alright?" Miyako asked, placing an assuaging touch on Hisana's shoulder.

Hisana exhaled and nodded. "Yes," she lied.

"You know what a good friend of mine use to say," Matsumoto said, leaning forward as if she was about to reveal an age-old secret, "the best way to get over a guy is to get under a-"

"Matsumoto!" Miyako scolded, anticipating the last word.

Hisana smiled. "I think we have a common friend," she joked back.

"It's good advice!" Matsumoto exclaimed, taking a quaff from the decanter. "I've had my heart broken a time or two," she said in between sips, "I should know."

Hisana's eyelids lowered at the thought. Hisana sincerely doubted that Matsumoto's heart had _ever_ been broken. 'Her pride however,' she mused to herself.

A devious gleam shone in Matsumoto's eyes. "We should find you a man for tonight!"

"Matsumoto!" Miyako cried. "Hisana, please forgive her. She is drunk beyond reason."

Hisana stared at Matsumoto with a wild look. "I don't think…"

"Nonsense! I'll find you the perfect guy for tonight." Eagerly, she spied Hisana's expression.

Hisana shook her head. "You do that," her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I will. I have one already in mind." Matsumoto took to her feet. She was spry for the amount of liquor she had imbibed, and she crossed the crowded bar. "You'll love him. He is so _sensitive_," she said, gesturing wildly as she walked.

"You are not going to." Miyako could not complete the sentence.

Hisana shook her head. "I humor Matsumoto."

Miyako exhaled a deep breath. "Good. I don't think," she began, concern filling her eyes, "it is a good idea. But, you know when she gets something in her head."

"I think Matsumoto truly thinks she is doing me a favor."

"She always does."

Miyako shook her head at the blonde before turning her attention to Hisana. "You look terrible," she said, wincing. "I didn't mean for that to come out sounding so-"

Hisana waved her hand in front of her face. "No. No. I look terrible. I feel worse."

"Something happen?" Miyako tilted her head and unease creased her forehead.

Hisana swallowed and lifted her eye-line to the Shinigami crowding the bar. "Do you think Lady Kokiden and?"

Reading Hisana's sentiments all too well, Miyako's lips lengthened into a wide grin. "Hardly," she blurted out. "Apparently, after Captain Kuchiki's passing, Sir Kuchiki has taken to certain _vices_. She is one of _many_."

Hisana's eyes widened. "What?" she gasped, choking on her sake. The burn of alcohol in her windpipe elicited a coughing fit. Hisana had heard whispers of Byakuya's _numerous_ indiscretions in the past months. Each rumor had chilled her heart a little more. She did not blame him, however. She understood his distress better than most. She had shared her sadness with another, and the comfort was decisive if only temporary.

Miyako placed a tender hand against Hisana's back. Gently, she rubbed the hacking woman. "Yes," she confirmed cautiously. "According to reliable sources, he has been very _active_ among the noble women. They say his heart has become cold and fickle."

Clearing her throat and catching her breath, Hisana's head bobbed up. "Cold and fickle?" she repeated.

"'Cold as permafrost and fickle like a wandering wind,' I think were the words used. His family, however, _chooses_ to believe that he will select Lady Kokiden in the end. Other, less invested, members of the nobility do not think he will marry at all."

Hisana's eyes fell to the dirty bar floor. "That is a sad tale," she murmured. She did not wish such a fate on him.

"If I didn't know better, it would seem that he was under the impression that _you_ left _him_."

"He is," Hisana muttered.

Miyako's eyes widened. "What? I thought…"

Hisana nodded her head. "His family."

"What?"

"We both received letters. Fake letters."

Miyako rolled her eyes and shook her head. "How cruel. Does he know?"

"No. I _just_ learned of this chicanery from his attendant."

Miyako continued to shake her head. "Is there anything that I can do?"

Hisana shot Miyako a bitter smile. "No. What is done is done."

"I hope he does not choose Lady Kokiden as a bride."

"Does she care that he is so familiar with so many other women?" Hisana threw down another drink. Her heart raced, and her stomach tensed. The liquor burned through her, mixing with the acid churning in her belly. The pain proved to be a convenient distraction.

Miyako's mouth opened, and she gave Hisana a conciliatory smile. "She desires a title, nothing more."

Hisana began imbibing with greater intensity. Her mind wandered as Miyako's voice wafted over her soothingly. She tried to follow Miyako's words, but her brain refused to focus. Swigging from a once filled cup, she stared at the bottom of the container. Every drop had been drunk. Intoxicated, she looked up at Miyako. Her eyelids drooped, and she leaned over the table, hoping that it would train her thoughts. It did not. She was drunk.

"Hisana!" Matsumoto beckoned from across the bar. The blonde's face lit up, and she waved at Hisana. "Come here," she called.

Hisana exchanged a look with Miyako. Even in her intoxicated state, she was fully aware that Miyako disapproved of what Matsumoto had in store for her. "I will settle this," Hisana said, feigning resoluteness. Sliding off the bar stool, she became acutely aware of her body's sudden inadequacy. She felt leaden, and it took great mental effort to move forward.

Reaching Matsumoto, she murmured her hello in a slurred tongue.

"Hisana, meet Kogimi," Matsumoto gestured toward the young man. "He is an incredibly talented Shinigami," she whispered, leaning her head toward Hisana's ear.

Even drunk, Hisana was aware that it was a bad idea. "Vice Captain," she murmured, shaking her head.

"C'mon. I will not hear any more of it," she said, shoving Hisana and the young male Shinigami into a small ancillary room. Hisana cried her protest. Her hands immediately flew up to the door, but she could not draw it back. She breathed a sigh before turning around.

'Oh, no.'

The room was small and smelled of booze and smoke. It was sparsely decorated: There was a small wooden Go board and sitting mats stationed against the wall nearest the door. In the middle of the room, a futon had been laid out. The bar had dubbed itself an "inn" due to its several small "private rooms." The rooms were used mostly for seated officers to drink, eat, and strategize, but the rooms also served the purpose of allowing amorous and _drunk_ soldiers a place to rendezvous. The barracks of most officers were tiny, and the security outside each division often required explaining—explaining that most did not want to do because of the prohibition against illicit sexual encounters. (It was a prohibition in name only. Not one Shinigami had been prosecuted under the rule. Its purpose was to keep the divisions free from enflamed passions.)

Glancing away from the futon, Hisana felt her cheeks heat as she turned to the baby-faced male Shinigami. He stood close, and he was tall, staring down at her. He looked so _young_ in his neatly pressed uniform. She wondered if he had ever _seen_ battle. Her lips parted, and the words swelled in her throat, but her mind diverted when she realized _whom_ he was. "You are a member of the Sixth?" Her eyes widened, and she gave a silent prayer that he would deny his affiliation.

He nodded. "Yes, I am the Sixth Seat of the Sixth Division."

'Oh, no! Why would Matsumoto do that?' Likely, Matsumoto did not know. She suddenly felt woozy. Her equilibrium shifted, and her legs weakened from under her.

He steadied her. His hands caught her shoulders, and he took a step forward. He peered down at her. A strange unreadable look caught in his eyes. "Are you feeling well?"

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, wondering how deep the awkwardness went. Was there a bottom?

He nodded. "You are the Thirteenth's Fifth Seat. You are-"

She swallowed so hard that she did not hear his last word. She could barely concentrate. Between the anxiety of the situation and the drink coursing through her, the room began to spin at a slow rotation. Feeling his grip on her tighten, she blinked up at him. Words. She needed to use her words. Many words floated into her mind, but none of them made coherent sense. At least, not together.

"We could be discreet," he murmured, bowing his head towards hers.

Hisana did not want to be discreet. She wanted to flee. "I," she said, feeling the harshness of her voice sting her throat, "I don't know." Her listless mind failed her. Tucking her chin toward her neck, she stared into the knotty floorboards.

His hands began to wander down to her waist. "I will not harm you," he said, leaning closer.

. . . .

Breathless, Sheh reached the teahouse. "I am Lord Kuchiki's body servant," he said between gasps to the hostess posted near the front. "Please, I have urgent news."

"Lord Kuchiki has given strict orders. He does not wish to be disturbed."

Sheh flashed the letter at the woman. "It is from the manor," he said, briefly exposing the family's crest. "It is dire, please."

The woman's slips sloped into a frown. She was uncertain, but the letter did look official. Sheh had made sure to show her only glimpses of the missive, hoping that she would not notice that it had been opened.

Wordlessly, she jerked her chin in the direction of the room. He did not need to be signaled twice. Sheh rushed down the hall and gave several raps against the wood of the door. He heard the ruffle of fabric swishing. "Lord Kuchiki, I have received urgent news."

Lady Kokiden's attendant slid the door open. "The Lord and Lady request privacy," she whispered, softening the rejection with a soothing look.

Sheh shook his head. He was not accepting "no" for an answer. Springing to his feet, he burst forward into the room, pushing by the female servant. "Lord Kuchiki," he insisted, holding the letter out imploringly. Immediately, he kneeled and bowed before Byakuya.

Byakuya lifted his head. A look of confusion darkened his eyes, and his expression begged the question: 'Have you gone mad?' Byakuya had never been adept at handling explosive outbursts, and Sheh was _frantic_.

"Please, Lord Kuchiki. It concerns Hisana." The moment Sheh spoke the word, Lady Kokiden began to scold his impertinence, and she demanded that guards be sent to apprehend him. Her sharp objections, however, worked against her. Seemingly, her desires goaded Byakuya, and he leaned toward his servant. Gracefully, he plucked the letter from Sheh's fingers.

Unfolding the page, he calmly began to read the words. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, but his lips snapped closed the moment he reached the end.

"The signature belongs to you," Sheh stated, having read his master's fine features. "Miss Hisana received this letter on the same day you received yours," he stated over the Lady's impassioned protests. "Did you pen these words?" The question was rhetorical. He had only spoken the first word before Byakuya stood.

Anger glowed in Byakuya's eyes, and his lips sloped downward. Without a word or an acknowledgment, he threw the door to the room back and crossed the threshold. His hand tightly gripped the letter, sending creases through the paper.

Bowed on the floor, Sheh's eyes locked on the tatami upon feeling the air chill in his master's wake. A second passed, and, as realization washed over Lady Kokiden, she let out a loud scream. Incomprehensible curses mingled with shrieks filled the room. So enraged, she grabbed a steaming pot of tea and threw it across the room. The iron cracked against wood before crashing to the floor. The pot warbled back and forth before stopping.

Sheh remained subservient, weathering the storm.

. . . .

"Move," Byakuya ordered as he neared the door. Shocked, the Shinigami scattered into the hazy bar. He slid back the door and stepped into the room. He prepared for the worst.

Hisana and Kogimi stood immediately upon seeing who entered. The two had been seated at the Go board. Both of them bowed their heads respectfully. Byakuya gave Kogimi a measured look.

Kogimi nodded, "Good evening, sir," he said before bowing and departing.

Hisana continued to stare at the floor. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her brows furrowed. He could see her strain to hold back her sorrow. "Lord Kuchiki," she managed in a broken voice.

Byakuya took a step forward, observing the game. They had been playing for a while. Furtively, he glanced back at the futon. The bed was undisturbed. The sheets crisply tucked in place. He turned his gaze back to Hisana. She was neatly dressed, and her eyes did not speak of recent improprieties. She had not given her body to Kogimi.

"You are winning," he said, leaning down to scrutinize the stones.

She looked up at him, and she smiled softly.

"I will need to address the inadequacies of my squad's strategic planning as soon as possible," he murmured wryly as he considered the plays made.

Her smile lengthened. "He was letting me win," she said gently.

Byakuya's posture became ramrod straight. He secured his heart before meeting her gaze. Their eyes locked, and he inhaled a deep breath, bracing against the whirling emotions ready to burst up from his chest. "I did not write these words," he said, proffering the letter.

She nodded, refusing to take it from him. Her fingers curled in the material of her yukata. "Your attendant discovered the treachery." She shivered, determined to remain still and resolved. She had thought that the time apart had changed them, but his gaze told her otherwise. His heart was steady.

"I have betrayed your affections," he began, "during our separation."

Hisana closed her eyes, but her smile lingered, giving her a bittersweet look. "The moments during our separation do not count," she said, meeting his gaze again.

He closed the space between them. He took her hands in his—sensitive to every tremor of every muscle fiber. He was careful not to impose himself on her, but he desperately wanted her by his side again.

So conflicted.

She squeezed his hand, and her eyes dropped to the floor.

He watched her swallow. He watched her brows knit together over a troubled stare. He watched for any signs of fear or happiness.

She closed her eyes, and inhaled a deep breath.

He could sense that she was trying to be level-headed. He just wondered what she was thinking. Had she closed her heart to him? He had been foolish to believe the letter. It had not made sense at the time. Why had he not spoken to her? Fought for her? Now, he had only regret. His lips parted as a question tore through his mind, narrowly focusing his thoughts. The words burned in his throat before bubbling in his mouth. He bowed his head over hers. "Will you have me?" he whispered against her soft tresses. She smelled of the musky bar, but hints of her white plum perfume lit his olfactory nerves. He missed that familiar fragrance. He missed her soft pale skin. He missed her thin body tucked against his.

He glanced down to find her gazing up at him. Her eyes glistened in the flickering lamp light. "Yes." She sealed her answer with a kiss, a little timidly. He shut his eyes and followed her lead, gently at first then more urgently. It was instinctive—the way his hands began tracing her delicate frame before tangling his fingers in her robes.

She broke away, and, holding his look, she took his hand. With a gentle tug, she led him to the futon. Stopping near the bed, he moved to undress her, but she shook her head. "Let me," she murmured. With slow but precise movements, she disrobed piece by piece.

He watched her, entranced. It had been so long since he had been mentally present during the intimate moments. He had daydreamed his way through past sexual encounters, pretending that his lovers were someone else.

Tenderly, she took his hand and placed it against her waist. Her eyes bid him to take her.

He accepted her invitation, letting his hands traverse the smooth curves of her body. She was thinner than before. Sorrow had eaten away at her frame. Grief had marked his body as well. Exploring her fine lines, he watched her fingers flutter against the fabric of his clothes. She knew his knots and ties well.

Both bare and exposed, he shoved her down on the futon playfully. She grinned and excitedly reached up, pulling him down to her. "It is impolite to tease me, Lord Byakuya," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her cheeks flushed, and she smiled up at him.

Byakuya sank into her warmth. It began slow and tender, but he could not contain himself. He had dreamt of her for so long. Even when his bed was filled, it felt empty without her. Pressing hard against her, he felt her body tremble against his. She threw her head up, and her back arched.

His release was pure and complete, but he remained locked against her. Looking down, he watched her. Frantic, she pulled him closer and buried her head in his chest. She shook, sobbing. Her cries pierced him sharper than a blade to the heart. He held her tightly, silently. Her small chest struggled to capture air in between her weeping.

Words could not express his thoughts. He merely watched her grief—a sadness that he could not comprehend. Had he caused this overflow? Had he injured her moments prior? "Hisana?"

Gasping and tense, she looked up at him. "I am sorry, Lord Byakuya. I have missed you deeply." She had refused to cry during their separation. Now, at their reunion, the feelings that had gone unexpressed poured out of her. The torture had ended, but she was slow to adjust.

He stared at her with an intense look in his eyes. "I will never leave your side again."

. . . .

The frosty morning air roused the lovers. The violent bright sunbeams pried their tired eyes open. Hesitant, Hisana sat up. Her eyes swollen and her head pounded from her outburst hours before. She had seemingly cried her body dry before collapsing from fatigue.

Slumped over her knees, she gave her companion a sidelong glance. To be sure that her mind was not torturing her, she placed her hand against his. Byakuya was there, and she stared at his hand, so large against her own. She laced her fingers with his. Absently, she turned her gaze to his face. Her color rose upon realizing that he was staring back at her.

"We should be going," she murmured, giving him a wry smile.

Quietly, they dressed. Exiting the bar into the market, Hisana braced against the cold autumn morning, hugging her chest for warmth. Within moments, she felt the touch of silk cascade down her shoulders. The material was warm, holding the heat from its previous wearer. Adjusting the fabric so that it would not trail to the dusty ground, she glanced down. The color immediately drained from her cheeks, and her breath caught in her throat, stinging. '_Ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu,_' her mind screamed, enunciating each syllable in her head. "Lord Byakuya," she said, eyes wide and lips parted. She shook her head disapprovingly. "I cannot."

He stayed her with a look. His face impassive, but his eyes settled the argument. It was his moment of humility, and she was not going to refuse it. "It suits you," he murmured. His gaze softened as he observed the way the material pooled around her. She was so small.

She lifted her eyes to him, and her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. Her stare fluttered down to his hand, and a gentle smile turned her lips up as if she was recounting a past memory. "Love alters not with his brief hours or weeks," she murmured in a soft sing-song cadence to herself.

That elicited a small smile from her companion. "But bears it out even to the edge of doom," he said, completing the next line of the sonnet.

She pressed her lips together and gave him a sly glance, amused that he had been paying such close attention to her. He stared ahead of them, leading her toward the Thirteenth. She had assumed that his thoughts had drifted to more pressing concerns. It soothed her, however, to know that he was finely attuned to her musings.

Reaching the Thirteenth, she bowed low. "Lord Byakuya," she whispered. Her fingers caught in the soft folds of his scarf, but he stopped her with a small fleeting touch.

"I will collect it tonight," he said evenly.

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Kuchiki," understanding his words. "What should I wear?"

He lifted his head. Her question disarmed him, and he stood staring at her blinking back his confusion. She wondered if he had ever been asked the question before. It had not seemed like an improper inquiry, but, judging by his nonplussed expression, she considered the possibility that her judgment had been bad. She wasn't sure that it _was_ improper, however. She merely desired to make him happy.

Byakuya gave her a hesitant look, bowed, and turned on his heel as if her question had been his command. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip, watching him walk away. 'Curious.' Her mind filled with solutions to the problem that was his response to her question. Preoccupied, she crossed into her division and followed the path to her small apartment.

"Hisana," the cheery voice of her captain stopped her dead.

"Captain Ukitake," she greeted, whirling around to face him. He stood a few lengths away, and he smiled at her. His gaze narrowed on the priceless Kuchiki heirloom. He cocked his head at the discovery, and a knowing expression spread across his face.

Hisana bowed deeply, hoping that the act would obscure her horror. When she straightened into ramrod position, she found that his smile only widened. She could have swooned from the embarrassment of it all. At least she managed to train the stammer from her tongue. She stared at him, wordless.

"I like it," he said, nodding toward the scarf. "It is humble."

Her eyes widened. The scarf was worth ten mansions. It was the very antithesis of _humble_. But, then, she doubted that his meaning was so plain. 'He means Byakuya is being humble.' Bowing her head reverently, she said, "Thank you."

"I would take it off before you see-" His voice drifted, but she understood his incomplete sentiments to completion.

"Yes, Captain. I would not want to get it _dirty_." Dirty from all the gossip mongering, ill wishes, and hurt feelings. If anyone else saw her with the scarf they would either think her a thief or would start a scandal. She had her fill of scandals.

He grinned at her. "Of course."

She bowed deeply. "I am glad you are feeling well, Captain."

He nodded. "Likewise."

The two parted, and, a few steps into the farewell, she picked up the pace and ran to her apartment. She threw open the door and spent ten minutes deliberating where to place the priceless fabric. "Some place dry, secure, and out of sight." Momentarily, she calculated the probabilities that her living quarters could spontaneously combust. "Very low," she said, moving toward her hot plate. It was set to "off." She locked the scarf in her desk drawer after cleaning the drawer out and scrubbing it down.

While she dressed, her gaze remained locked on the drawer. The desk was where her gaze remained until she was outside her living space. She took a few steps toward the offices before feeling an ache in her foot. She stamped her foot to adjust her waraji, but the ache remained. "I am getting old," she complained under her breath as she limped forward.

Upon entering the office, she met a peaceful silence. No one was there except for a few students tasked with the job of cleaning the offices. She smiled and acknowledged them with equal measure as they wandered past. She, however, was relieved to have a few quiet moments to herself.

Hisana pulled the panels back to let in the significantly more temperate autumn air. She smiled as she stared out into the empty field. No one was training yet. Her gaze flicked up, and she stepped off the wooden boards. Quietly, she trained, releasing her Zanpakutō. Dipping the blade downward, she let it slip into the ground. A soft smolder. Embers crackled in the air, and smoke lifted from the fire. Gripping the hilt with one hand, she manipulated the smoke with her other, controlling the intensity of the fire and the smoke through her sword. She had not quite mastered the second technique. It only seemed to burst through when she shed her blood.

Distant clacking of doors and voices interrupted her concentration. She sealed her sword, and turned around to find Kaien Shiba a few meters away. With cocked head, he inspected her. Her form. Her angles. "Amaterasu," he said, straightening and planting his hands on his hips.

Hisana's face reddened. Shock. She had not even sensed him, and she rebuked herself for her carelessness.

"It is said Amaterasu will only submit to those with divine blood," he added.

"I am afraid that I have bled all that blood away," she teased. It was true on some level. She had spilled her fair share of blood between living in Inuzuri and battle. She was convinced the only blood that remained in her was peasant blood. Likely, Amaterasu submitted to her only out of pity now.

Kaien extended a hand, helping her up the hill. She accepted, and he pulled her forward. "You look better," he said, stabilizing her with a touch against her shoulder.

She nodded and smiled up at him. "I feel better," she said, taking to his side as they moved toward the offices.

"I spoke to Vice Captain Ichimaru the other day."

Her heart dropped.

"He mentioned that you were interested in helping Captain Aizen with a project."

A cold breath caught in her chest, sending tingles through her lungs.

"Is that true?" he asked dryly. Something about his countenance seemed to speak his skepticism.

With wide eyes, she stared at him before averting her gaze to the side. "Vice Captain Ichimaru mentioned that Captain Aizen had an assignment. I was neutral to the proposal."

"I see," he said, staring ahead. An inscrutable look caught in his eye. "Did he tell you what the assignment entailed?"

Hisana shook her head. "I will pay a visit to the Fifth today," she said under her breath.

The two crossed into the office. Miyako stood upon seeing Kaien and Hisana. "Are you alright?" she asked, taking a step toward the latter.

Hisana smiled and nodded. "Yes."

Kaien's brows pulled together. "What?"

The two women ignored his question. "I am so sorry. I heard that you had been stuffed into a room with a member of the Sixth." Miyako's words ran together.

The lines of Kaien's fell. "What?"

Hisana shook her head. "It was fine. He was a perfect gentleman."

Miyako's worry did not cease. "Are you sure? Matsumoto has her _moments_."

Kaien's eyes exclaimed him confusion. "What?"

"Everything was fine. Better than fine, actually. I am quite satisfied with the night's ultimate outcome."

Miyako's concern abated but only slightly. "You will have to tell me more about that."

"Later," Hisana said, nodding, "when I return."

Kaien stared at the two women, wary. "What just happened?" he asked, leaning his head toward Miyako as he watched Hisana leave.

The walk to the Fifth was brief. Reaching the gate, she barely had the chance to explain her presence. If she had been prone to paranoia (she was), she would have thought that the guard had _expected_ her presence (she did). An unseated Shinigami directed her to a small antechamber. While waiting, Hisana soaked in the surroundings. Shinigami scurried to and forth, each and every one that spotted her smiled and wished her a good morning. A quiet desperation lingered in the air.

There was something off about the Fifth. She had never quite been able to put her finger on the cause. Initially, she, like everyone else, had just _assumed_ that Gin Ichimaru was the source of the Fifth's peculiarity. But, after waiting for 15 minutes, she had come to the conclusion that Gin Ichimaru was merely an additive factor. There was something odd about the Shinigami that roamed the Fifth's halls. Docile, subservient, overly polite—they were all the same. Hisana had no doubt that they all possessed the requisite skill to be Shinigami, but they were all so similar. While it was true that certain divisions possessed certain reputations—which drew certain personalities—the Fifth was nondescript. It was not the Second, the Fourth, the Sixth, the Eighth, the Eleventh, the Twelfth, or even the Thirteenth. The Fifth may have been the only division famous for its _absence_ of character.

Twenty minutes passed before someone _fetched_ her. Ever polite, the Shinigami bowed low and, looking up with bright eyes, she led Hisana toward the captain's office. "Please, excuse the mess," the Shinigami began, waving a hand carelessly toward the construction. "We have been renovating as of late."

Hisana nodded her head. The Second had _always_ been in a state of repair. The Vice Captain had spent a small fortune on updating _everything_ at a drop of a hat. Carefully, she navigated her way around the obstruction. Lightly, she stepped across a loose floorboard.

"Watch your step, Miss Hisana," the Shinigami warned kindly.

Hisana smiled up at the young girl. "Yes," she said right before she stepped hard against an unstable board. The board triggered another board to break, snapping up into her foot, piercing her footwear and impaling the tender skin of her feet.

A small cry escaped her. Her muscles locked, and she crouched down to examine the damage. The wood splinter was large, and it went clean through her foot. Bracing, she pressed her lips tightly together, and her jaws clenched. She stepped down, and pulled the wood from the top of her foot. Her breath, once trapped in her lungs, expelled ragged. She sat on the floor for a moment, overcome by agony. Her foot throbbed, and her body shuddered. Endorphins were slow to kick on, leaving her writhing.

A loud din sounded in her head, but she was unsure if it was outside stimuli or merely mental noise. Blood soaked her white tabi, and it began to pool on the floorboards. Deep crimson streaked the wood, soaking and staining the fibers. She frowned at the display, tempted to begin cleaning the blood with the hem of her uniform. Before her muscles sparked under her flesh, however, her eyes caught a glimpse of a long shadow creeping over her. Her gaze snapped up, and she found Captain Aizen peering down at her.

Gracefully, he bowed, examining her wound as if she was an errant child. "Miss Hisana," he murmured. He removed her waraji and sock before applying a healing kidou.

She watched for a moment, straining against the pain. A scream begged to be released, but she smothered it in her mouth, biting her lip hard. When Captain Aizen finished, he helped her up. "Can you walk?" he asked softly, holding her hand in his.

Hisana nodded her head. "Yes," she said shakily. Slowly, she limped beside him.

"I appreciate your willingness to entertain this assignment. It must have seemed a very strange request."

Wincing with each step, Hisana glanced up at him. "What is the request?"

"Oh. My Vice Captain did not apprise you of the assignment?"

She shook her head. "No, Captain."

Aizen lifted his head, observing her over the frame of his glasses. "It is an experiment of sorts. I was very intrigued by your _ability_."

Hisana watched him, nonplussed. "Ability?" she repeated.

"Yes. Your spiritual pressure or power did not activate the obsidian. That is _very unusual_. So _unusual_ that I have not been able to replicate it with anyone else. I merely ask that you indulge my curiosity. I promise that it will not be long."

He led her to his office. "Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the front of his desk.

Apprehensive, she sat in proper seiza. Her posture was rigid, and she tucked her hands into her lap. Demurely, she gazed down, avoiding eye contact.

"I can invite a female officer to sit with us if you are uncomfortable," he said softly, perceiving her distress.

Hisana shook her head. "No, Captain Aizen," she murmured.

"My I see your hand?" his voice was soft and kind.

Hisana nodded. Her muscles felt like jelly. All fluttering twinges, she lifted her arm from her side. Aizen's large hand turned her wrist over, and he opened her palm, easing her fingers away. Taking the black obsidian out of an envelope, he set the stone in her hand. Its reaction to him dimmed the moment he released his control. The color of the stone swirled to black under her care. "Release some of your reiatsu," he commanded gently.

Hisana did as instructed. The stone remained cold and black.

Aizen gently caressed the stone in her hand. It reacted to his touch, but its color muted. He then plucked the stone from her palm, and he watched the stone react to his spiritual pressure as he released a burst. A green light lit the dim office.

Hisana lifted her head and scrutinized the stone. She knew that light. She had dreamt of that light. But, what did it mean? What was its purpose?

Aizen guided her hand toward the black rock. His touch was feather light. When her finger grazed the stone, it immediately darkened even despite his elevated reiatsu. "One more test," he stated. His features narrowed into an intense look. The problem seemed to engross him. "May I draw some blood?" he asked, opening her hand and massaging her muscles.

Grimly, Hisana nodded. "Yes." She immediately turned her cheek, clearly uncomfortable with his nearness and the prospect of injury.

He pricked her index finger with a fine needle. He then turned his attention to the obsidian. He began applying more reiatsu to the stone. It glowed brightly and began to levitate. Gently, he positioned her bleeding finger over the stone. The moment her blood spilled over the stone, coating it completely, the rock fell and deactivated. Aizen emitted more spiritual pressure, but it would not respond to him.

"So fascinating," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Your blood must possess some secret," he concluded more so to himself than to her. "Are there others like you?"

Hisana shot him a perplexed stare. She was not quite sure what that meant. 'Like replicas?' she thought wryly to herself.

Reading her confusion, a small smile broke his intense look. "I mean: Do you have siblings? Although, if you came from the World of the Living, I suppose you would not know, would you?"

Hisana was about to speak, but her words were interrupted by a female Shinigami. "Captain Aizen, I have fetched new footwear and tabi," she said, bowing as she set the items outside the threshold.

He nodded his head. "Thank you," he said. Turning his gaze to Hisana, his eyes briefly flashed to the items before returning to her. "Please, take the fresh socks and waraji. If you need assistance to walk, I will send someone to accompany you to the Thirteenth."

"Captain Aizen, I cannot impose."

He raised a hand. "No. I insist. You have no use for bloody tabi and broken shoes. I will dispose of them immediately."

"Thank you, Captain Aizen."

When Hisana returned to the Thirteenth, she hobbled to her quarters, sure that she had some spare clean bandages in a small first aid kit that she kept on hand. When she drew the door back, she took a step backward to check if she was at the correct apartment.

Shocked.

She had not mistakenly walked into the wrong living quarters. Daring to peek inside again, she squeezed her eyes shut and snorted a happy breath. "Lord Byakuya," she said quietly to herself. Her heart swelled, and her cheeks burned. She was excitedly embarrassed.

Opening her eyes after drawing a long, deep and _fragrant _breath, she smiled at the sight. "So many flowers."

* * *

**AN:** To everyone who reads, to everyone who reviews, and to everyone who has stuck with this for such a long time, thanks!


	21. Proposals

**Chapter 20: Proposals**

"I don't know about this," Hisana murmured, bracing against Sheh's tugging.

"Shh," Sheh replied, stuffing her into the kimono.

"This is extravagant." Worried, she ran her hands up and down the fabric, praying that it did not wrinkle against his harsh pulls. The silk and pattern were painstakingly exquisite. The kimono was deep blue with a red lining. Embroidered and painted, golden leaves decorated the hems, seemingly swirling up and scattering when they reached too high.

"This took several years to make," he said between sharp tugs.

Wide-eyed, she jerked away. "What?" Her breath hitched in her chest, clipping the question.

"He said that you would refuse," he huffed before quickly grabbing her back and continuing despite her protests. "But he insists. It means so much to him."

With bent brow and narrowed eyes, Hisana gave him a piercing over-the-shoulder glare. "Why?"

"It is a family heirloom, and he wants you to wear it tonight."

Her cheeks began to sting as a deep crimson spread across her face. Something about _how_ he spoke the words set her nerves on fire. "Why?" Byakuya was a deliberate man, and, for a moment, she wondered if he was making a _statement_ with the kimono.

She could almost _feel_ Sheh shrug from behind her. "He was adamant about it when he arrived at the manor this morning."

Hisana snorted a sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. "I asked his opinion about my attire for the evening. I hope he did not leave with the impression that I desired..."

Sheh sighed heavily. "He did not. He would have purchased a new garment to _give to you _if he had perceived your question as a request."

She opened her eyes and turned her head so she could glimpse him. Fear besmirched her face and twinkled in her eyes. The assessment comforted her only slightly. She was now sure that this gesture meant something else.

"He is protecting you with this kimono," he murmured, fussing with the obi.

With a long graceful movement, she raised an arm and examined the deep blue sleeves. 'Blue…Blue…Blue,' she hummed to herself, trying to remember its meaning. 'Blue is a defensive color—meant to ward off pests.' She wondered if he was being clever—she was about to enter a figurative viper pit after all. If she was to remain with Byakuya, there would be many struggles ahead—his family, the court ladies, Lady Kokiden, angry nobles in general.

Sheh sat her down, and he began combing her hair. When she opened her lips to air a protest, he shook his head in anticipation. "Don't even," he said, playfully narrowing his eyes.

Hisana glanced up at him confused. He served a male master. He should be the _last_ person to "style" her. "How do you?"

"I once served a Lady of the household. I know all about kimono, hair, makeup, and the many horrible tortuous things women do to themselves to look presentable."

A sly smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "I do none of those things." It was true. She owned a few feminine things, but, besides her perfume, which was her staple, she did not have a need for burdensome kimono, hair bobbles, or makeup. Such things would only hinder her as a Shinigami and during her treks to Rukongai.

He returned her smile. "You don't have to," he said, brushing a stubborn tress of hair from her eyes. "You are very pretty, and, more importantly, you possess milord's heart."

She glanced down, demure. Her cheeks flushed. When, she looked up at him again, a soft smile played on her lips.

"Don't be careless with it." Sheh's expression tightened.

Her eyes fluttered open and shut as if something caught in her eye. She detected a sharp disapproving subtext in his words. "Do you not think my heart belongs to him?" Part of her was indignant at the unspoken implication—an implication that only his eyes betrayed—that her heart was not similarly disposed.

Sheh raised his head. He gave her a measured look. "I believe your heart is fragmented, and he mourns harming the piece he has claimed."

Hisana's brows lowered, and she closed her eyes. Inhaling a sad breath, she considered his evaluation of her. Sheh was right. She hated to admit it. Her heart was a jumbled mess, and she divvied out the pieces of it that she had not already allocated to her sister.

Glancing down at her, Sheh scrutinized her as if he was an artist considering a piece of work. Giving an approving nod of his head, he said, "Lord Kuchiki will be pleased." Hisana dropped her head diffidently, and her gaze trailed to the side. "Come," he said, aiding her to her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked, leading the way out of her humble quarters.

He scooped the prized Kuchiki scarf against his chest before exiting. "To the manor," he answered.

She gave him a sidelong gaze. She was shocked. "Isn't that bold?"

Sheh shook his head. "It is honest."

When they reached the manor, Sheh led her to Byakuya's private wing. The estate's imposing size and winding halls always amazed Hisana. The floor plan seemingly shifted with each visit. Careful to not make a sound as she crossed the hard wood, she pressed her lips together and pushed through the bitter ache that emanated from her foot. As a diversion, she glanced into the open rooms as they passed. The spaces were all massive and were simply adorned.

Upon arriving at the door, Sheh stopped and announced their presence. "Lord Kuchiki," Sheh said softly. He then gave her a firm nod of his head.

As if commanded, Hisana kneeled in front of the door. In the proscribed manner, she opened the door and bowed before the threshold. A few second passed, and she glanced up to find Byakuya seated at his desk, writing. From the forms, she knew that he was laboring over paperwork for the Sixth.

He lifted his head, and a small smile ghosted over his lips. His gaze trained to her longingly before he stood. "Please," he commanded.

She stood, and, with a stiff gait, she crossed the room, stopping an arm's length away. "Lord Kuchiki," she said and bowed.

Byakuya's expression fell slightly at her formality. His gaze then drifted to Sheh, who lingered by the door. With a measured look, he dismissed his body servant.

"You're injured," he stated, dipping his head down. He placed a reassuring hand against her shoulder. Seemingly, his assuaging touch beckoned her to straighten. Hisana's body reflexively responded, but she misjudged. So eager to please, when her head popped up, she collided against his chin. The two stood—red cheeked and somewhat embarrassed by their clumsiness.

"Lord Kuchiki," she began apologetically, "I am so sorry." Her hand flew up to the affected area on her forehead. It throbbed.

Byakuya stroked his chin, shaking his head. "No, I was careless."

She met his gaze. Her brows furrowed, and her lips turned down. With a look, she conveyed her immense contrition. "Are you?" she began, cupping his cheek in her hand. She felt incredibly inelegant and mortified. Her senses dulled when in his presence. Movements and responses that she had honed since childhood seemed complex and inscrutable. She wondered if she had a similar effect on him.

"Come," he said, leading her to his desk. He swept some papers off his desk, but his movements were imperfect. Whole stacks of loose sheets tumbled to the floor, and he watched, wide-eyed and shocked, as the pages scattered across the tatami.

Hisana smiled as she leaned over to help him collect the paperwork. 'I suppose it is not only me,' she mused, stacking the sheets neatly to the side of the desk.

"Thank you," he murmured, embarrassed. His gaze fell to the ground, and he lowered his head.

Hisana's smile widened. 'Counting the straws of the tatami,' she thought knowingly to herself. She knew that look well, having counted many a straw and floorboard in her life while in his presence. She also knew the feelings like old friends: It was hard to concentrate. Simple tasks seemed impossible. The mind was overly preoccupied with the heart's yearnings. "How is the Sixth these days?" she said conversationally. Her words washed over him, urging him to break from his tense stare.

Byakuya looked up. "Well." His answer sounded leaden.

She leaned forward. "How is Vice Captain Shirogane?"

Reflexively, he grimaced.

"Not good?" she teased.

"_He_ is well," Byakuya stated tersely. Despite his impassive façade, she could tell that he was fuming. Hisana had a theory that Byakuya resented Shirogane at times.

"But _you_ are not," she noted perceptively.

"He is," Byakuya paused, deliberating on word choice, "_preoccupied_."

She tilted her head to the side as she considered what, exactly, he meant by "preoccupied." When he did not elaborate, she inquired, "With what?" Judging by his tenor, Shirogane's preoccupation was not with his duties at the Sixth.

He raised his head, and his blue eyes glinted under the artificial lighting. She was unsure of whether determination or aggravation shone in his look. "He wishes to start a business."

Absently, her brows lifted, and her gaze became more attentive. "Oh?" It was the first that she had heard of Shirogane's plans.

"Yes," Byakuya said coolly, "and he leaves all of his work to me now."

Hisana quickly pressed her lips together certain that if she did not that she would have laughed. Rarely did Byakuya let his mask slip, but, then, he appeared truly indignant—a refined kind of indignation that she was sure belied a fiery outrage. She imagined that he had every right to take umbrage with Shirogane's behavior. The Sixth was Captainless for the moment, and, without a strong Vice Captain, the work could become unbearable for the subordinates. Unbearable to almost catastrophic. "Well, what type of business is it?" she asked, hoping to divert his quiet fury.

"An _unnecessary one_."

She could not repress the grin that spread across her face. All she could do was shield it with the sleeve of the kimono. "Really? And, what kind of business does Lord Kuchiki find unnecessary?"

"Sunglasses. He manufactures and sells _sunglasses_."

She looked at him sympathetically. "That does not sound _so_ bad."

"_Unappealing sunglasses_," he added. "Aesthetic abominations."

Again, she pressed her lips together, stared at him wide-eyed, and bit the inside of her mouth to repress the chuckle that bubbled up from her chest. Rarely did he express his dislike so completely. "Oh, surely they cannot be _that_ bad," she attempted to moderate his harsh words.

"I have some," his voice dared her to press him further. He had _evidence_. "If you would like to see."

Hisana contemplated whether she should accept his challenge. Concluding that he was likely exaggerating, she nodded her head. "May I?"

"Of course," he said. He fumbled in his desk for a moment before withdrawing a small brown package. It had been opened. He pushed it across the desk to her.

Hisana's nimble fingers unfolded the brown cardboard back, and she plucked one of the glasses from the box. Examining the spectacles, she bit her lip. Hard. "Oh," she said, hesitant to select an adjective. The frames were bright white, made of plastic with horizontal plastic strips running from the frame across the lenses like shutters. "This is," she began again, but she could not articulate her feelings toward the eyewear. It was a mixture of shock and confusion. The design seemed impractical for Shinigami, who typically needed their vision to be free from obstruction.

"_Unfortunate_," he stated.

"Avant-garde," she said brightly, shooting him a pacifying look. He was not having it. He merely shook his head, and his affect flattened. "You have a box of them," she observed, somewhat bemused as to _why_ Shirogane had given him a box. While Byakuya tried to keep his thoughts to himself, she was certain that he did not hide his dissatisfaction with the sunglasses.

"I have _many_ box_es_ of them," he said pointedly.

She chuckled. "Why?"

"I purchased them," he murmured sheepishly.

Astounded, she cocked her head to the side, and stared at him in wonderment. "_Why_?" Sometimes he caught her off-guard with his reasoning.

"I do not wish to see others wearing them; they are so unappealing."

She giggled. "I think you may be sending the wrong message," she said playfully.

He sighed. "Perhaps."

"How many have you purchased?"

"I have a storage room."

She covered her mouth, hoping to smother the inelegant chuckle with the long sleeves of the furisode. A small smile thinned his lips as he watched her chortle. "Lord Kuchiki," she rebuked, half-heartedly, "do not tease me."

"I am being perfectly earnest," he said, smiling.

She folded her hands in her lap and watched him. It had been so long since she had seen him smile, and she did not want to miss a moment of it. "You are cruel," she said, shaking her head and feigning umbrage. She had a feeling that his "purchases" were a disguised attempt to fund Shirogane's enterprises because, behind his protests and cold glances, he was a very charitable man. He, however, would never admit that. "Despite the added paperwork, how has it been at the Sixth? Regale me with stories," she said sweetly. Instinctively, Hisana reached for a warm cup of tea. Somewhere between their banter, Sheh had served drink and food.

He was happy to oblige. "I went to instruct a lesson at the Spiritual Arts Academy today," he said somewhat grimly.

"How was that?" Hisana's brows furrowed, and she shot him a empathetic look.

"Treacherous."

She grinned. "Kidou?"

"Kidou."

She giggled. "Oh, no. What year were the students?"

"First."

She shook her head. "They gave you First Years?" She could not believe it. "What happened?" Anything _could_ happen with First Years. They were all so bad at kidou then. Even the ones that were promising were awful. Even the ones that were promising _at kidou_ ranged from bad to dangerous.

"I have offered to pay for the reconstruction."

Her eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her tea. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "What happened?"

"It was an intermediate class."

She grimaced as if she was apologizing on behalf of the Academy.

"It went _poorly_. I must admit that I am unfamiliar with the Spiritual Arts Academy's curriculum. I assumed too much."

"Fire?" she asked. Her brow furrowed, and a pained expression stretched across her face. It was an intuition.

He nodded. "Fire was not the most prudent choice on my part. I should have aborted my plans when one of the students nearly caught another student on fire."

Hisana tucked her chin down, and turned her cheek slightly as if bracing for the worst of it. "That happens from time to time," she murmured reassuringly.

"Another student's attack went wild and caught the girders on fire. We evacuated shortly after."

She covered her lips with her hand, and she winced. "I am sorry about that. It happens to the best instructors, though."

He looked at her in disbelief.

"During my Third Year kidou class, a student flooded the room. It took _weeks_ for the space to be usable," she shot him a conciliatory smile, "but you remember what it was like to be a student at the Academy."

Byakuya stared blankly at her. "No, I never attended the Academy."

Hisana's lips parted. "Oh?"

"I received private tutoring in the spiritual arts since I was a youth."

She lifted her head. She had always assumed that he had gone to the Academy. "Oh," she said. Her voice lowered.

"Oh?" he echoed, detecting her deflated inflection.

"You received private tutoring _alone_?"

"I had instructors," he corrected.

"No other students to learn with?"

He shook his head. "Is that problematic?"

A somber smile ghosted across her lips. "No," she said softly. The thought plucked a sad chord in her heart. 'It must have been isolating.'

He inhaled a measured breath. She could tell that her sudden soberness had put him on edge. "How is the Spiritual Arts Academy?" he asked.

"A zoo," she said sardonically, "six years of awkward interactions with your peers. Training happens in the meanwhile," she joked, waving her hand in front of her face as if to shoo the memories away.

His brows furrowed, and he watched her intently, seemingly commanding her to continue.

"You really have no idea?" she asked with a mixture of disbelief and concern clouding her features. He gave a slow, almost imperceptible, shake of his head. "It is grueling," she began, "You eat, sleep, and breathe the spiritual arts. In between that training, you interact with and come to respect your comrades, for the most part. It pushes you, for sure, in many ways. There are plenty of bad parts too," she said softly. After a few moments, she continued, perceiving the question written on his face. "There is a hierarchy. You have the nobles—they receive extra tutoring, and they come into the Academy well prepared. You then have students from the more respectable districts; they have some sense of what to expect. And, then, you have students from the roughest districts. They have no inkling of what is required of them, socially, academically, or in any other way. Then, everyone seemingly knows everything about you. Nothing is sacred or secret. Poor test performances and drunken improprieties all carry the same weight and follow you for years."

"Drunken improprieties?"

Hisana smiled. 'Of course that is what he would choose to question.' She nodded. "It is a social experiment of sorts."

"Did you?" he asked, a look of mortification etched into his features.

Hisana's eyes widened, and her cheeks reddened. She immediately filled her mouth with hot tea, hoping that her look of guilt had not been too apparent. He apparently remembered her confession months before about her number of lovers. Two. He was one of the two, and she had never confirmed the identity of the other.

"But, I thought Shiba was-"

If possible, her eyes grew larger, and she nearly choked on her tea. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand to keep the liquid at bay, she swallowed hard and began coughing. "You thought me and Vice Captain-?" she spluttered between gasps for air. She could not speak the name, fearing it would become dirty by implication. Her entire body wanted to reject the assumption—to purge the very thought that burned through her mind. "I have done many stupid things with Kaien Shiba, but we have never."

"Vice Captain Ichimaru stated that during the Cherry Blossom-"

Hisana rolled her eyes. "Of course he did," she drew in a sharp breath and exhaled with equal force. "Vice Captain Shiba and I spent the night together at the Cherry Blossom festival. That is true. When dawn broke, we staggered to my quarters, and I invited him in for tea. He passed out on my futon, and I took tea outside by a stream. We have shared a few kisses, nothing more. His heart belongs to another, but," she sighed.

Byakuya watched her attentively. "But," he echoed, encouraging her to continue.

"I think he seeks to right a past wrong with me out of some strangely held obligation." She shook her head, wishing to speak no further of the matter. She had long assumed that Isshin had divulged her secret to Kaien. Kaien had indicated as much when he sat with her overlooking the stream the day after the festival. There was no doubt in her mind that Kaien felt some sense of duty to see to her security and happiness. 'An impossible task,' she thought lugubriously to herself for she was incredibly self-destructive and incredibly stubborn.

"How did you injure yourself?" Byakuya digressed, reading her chilliness on the matter. His gaze trailed to her affected leg.

Hisana smiled wryly. "You don't miss a thing do you?" she asked, eyes narrowed perceptively. His concern touched her. "I visited the Fifth today. The Division is under major renovation, and I stepped on a broken board. It got the best of me."

"Who called you to the Fifth?"

"Ichimaru, who else?" she muttered. She could not bring herself to speak of the Vice Captain formally, intentionally leaving off his rank to signal her disrespect. "Captain Aizen was interested in testing a rock on me."

Byakuya's brows furrowed. He appeared a cross between nonplussed and mortified. "What?"

She laughed. "That did come off sounding rather odd, didn't it?" She shook her head. "Captain Aizen has a stone that can detect spiritual pressure, but it does not work on me. In fact, I appear to negate its power." She was somewhat surprised that her explanation did not mollify him. In fact, he looked _more _disturbed.

"What does that _mean_?" He stared at her as if he was trying to make sense of what she had just said.

Hisana scrutinized his visage, wondering if she had slipped into some strange Rukongai dialect that he could not comprehend. Apparently, Byakuya Kuchiki knew nothing of magical reiatsu-detecting stones, and he seemed very much to want her to know nothing about the matter as well. Briefly, she considered the possibility that he thought her septic or reeling from some strange brain infection that sparked the nonsense she was speaking. Hisana merely shrugged. "I don't know. Captain Aizen has taken to geology it seems."

Byakuya pondered the matter for a few seconds longer before shaking his contemplation aside. "Would you mind accompanying me on a stroll?" he asked quietly.

Hisana smiled. She could always tell when he was unsure because his voice became low and quiet. His face never betrayed his uncertainty, however, but she knew he was waiting with great unease. "Of course," she said, sweetly.

He helped her to her feet, and he slid back the door, letting her pass first. A sign of humility, Hisana noted. Crossing into the courtyard of the estate, she felt her knee lock, and she rebounded with a shaky step. "Are you well enough?" he asked, staring down at her.

She lifted her wounded foot, and tethered her pain with a smile. "Yes, Lord Kuchiki."

His brow furrowed. "Please," he said, offering her his arm.

She blushed and turned her cheek. "Lord Kuchiki," she said. Her gaze flicked up at him shyly. "Is it prudent?" He nodded. Her worried look remitted as she threaded her arm through his. "Thank you," she said softly.

"There is no need."

She shook her head, silencing him. "No. You are too kind," she said, glancing down at the beautiful kimono. She felt self-conscious wearing the fine fabric.

He shook his head. "It pleases me," he said as if his kindness was purely self-motivated. She smiled at him, knowing better. A tranquil silence blanketed the pair. There was no speaking of ugly goggles, burning buildings, or magical stones. Just serenity. The dusk was settling over the beautiful estate. Hisana always marveled at the grounds. Everything looked as if it had been set aflame. The flowers, trees, and shrubbery all consented to a vibrant demise. Leaves fell like colorful snow, covering the ground with spectacular hues. She loved every piece of the estate, finding that it represented Byakuya better than words ever could. It was wild, fiery, sprawling, perfectly groomed, peaceful, and lovely.

She returned her gaze to him. He was deep in thought, staring ahead at nothing in particular. She indulged in holding her gaze a few paces longer than she would have otherwise. It was a perfect moment, she mused. She had very few perfect moments, but basking in the glow of everything that her companion loved made her intensely happy.

"I have a request," he said, glancing down at her.

She looked up at him. Shocked. He seemed so out of sorts. He refused to meet her gaze instead his eyes nervously wandered. His jaws flexed, and his brow bent slightly. His unease set her imagination loose. Horrible terrifying possibilities assailed her. He was always so steady. Even when he was uncertain, he did not show it. "Yes," she said weakly, dropping her gaze to her feet. She swallowed. Her throat parched, and her heart drummed a staccato beat in her chest.

"If I made arrangements for you to live in a house away from the barracks, would you consent to it?"

She stared up at him, unable to comprehend what his words meant. "What do you mean by 'arrangements'?" she asked, skeptical.

"If I purchased a house."

"Lord Kuchiki," she said, shaking her head. "I could not accept such an offer."

"You would be safer there," he murmured. "I would see to your every need and whim."

"No, Lord Kuchiki, I would be burdened with a debt that I could never repay."

"There is no debt to repay," he said earnestly.

Hisana shook her head with more conviction. "I can't accept. How could I?" She looked up at him. Her brows knitted together, and her lips compact. She wanted nothing more than to see to his happiness, but her wish to retain a semblance of equal footing with him restrained her desire to please. She could accept certain gifts with some ado, but this was beyond what she was willing to receive. It was simply too much.

"You could accept."

She stopped and turned to face him. Her head inclined, and she gave him a long deep look. Reaching up, she placed her hand against his cheek. Her touch was cool against his warm skin. "If I could give you the realms and make you King, I would, but you would not accept my generosity."

His brows fell, and he inhaled a shaky breath, "Stubborn pride," he muttered.

She lifted her head, and her eyes locked on his. The light in her eyes dimmed, and sorrow replaced her youthful happiness. Her lips parted in anticipation for some assuaging verse, but his look stayed her. Byakuya was not someone who heard or accepted "no" for an answer often. He was unaccustomed to rejection, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to construct a compelling argument to sway her mind. She managed a small smile. "I am grateful to be at your side, Lord Kuchiki. I require nothing more." She took a step forward, hoping to end the conversation. He, however, caught her wrist. His touch stopped her. She descried him somberly.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and inhaled a deep breath. "Will you-"

An explosion filled her ears, obscuring his words. Turning her head away from the bright light that radiated many kilometers away, she shielded her face with her arm. Protectively, Byakuya took a step in front of her. His hand tightly gripped the hilt of Senbonzakura, and he lowered his head, bracing against the impact.

"What is that?" Hisana asked the moment the light dimmed. It took a few moments for her vision, once splotchy with floaters, to clear.

He shook his head. Taking firm hold of her wrist, he led her toward a small stone temple. "Stay here," he commanded, giving her a stern look. She nodded, submitting to his better judgment. "I will return," he said.

"Be careful," she said softly.

He was gone in a flash, and she alone with her thoughts. Her miserable thoughts. Briefly, she wondered if her "stubborn pride," as he had called it, was well advised. He was a very calculating but taciturn man. Maybe there was some unknown danger of which she was unaware?

Hisana shook her head. 'But how could I be safer at a private residence than at the division?' she wondered. Trained Shinigami guarded the division and resided within its halls. Before she could drum up potential solutions in her head, she felt a tectonic shift. Her nerves tingled, and a white noise sounded in her head. Reflexively, she utilized a well-placed flashstep out of the small stone edifice.

The attack was on high. She bit out a high-level fire incantation in the direction of the perpetrator. It was an adolescent girl. "Who are you?" Hisana asked before dodging another round of kidou.

Hisana's movements were severely restrained by the heavy kimono, and she stumbled forward, blocking another attack with a barrier.

"Such fine silk. So sad that your wealth cannot help you now," the girl hissed.

"It doesn't belong to me," Hisana was quick to correct the woman's assumption.

"What do you mean? You are a Kuchiki or consort." The girl scowled at her.

"I'm not a noble." Hisana lifted her head as she examined the young adolescent. Likely, this was a rebel incursion.

"Where are you from?" the girl spat, eying Hisana with great skepticism.

"Inuzuri."

"You're one of us then?"

Hisana's lips thinned into an almost imperceptible smile. "Not _quite_." She quickly caught the girl in a binding spell. As she suspected, the rebel's spiritual power was immature. "Now, tell me, are you responsible for the explosion?"

Struggling against the binds, she turned her cheek and glared into the darkness. "My group was."

Hisana sighed. "You're coming with me." Wordlessly, she dragged the rebel toward the Second.

The Second repaid Hisana's kindness with a knockout drug and threw her into a detention cell. Bright sterile light sank into the dark spaces of her mind until her eyelids drew back. Her head throbbed at a steady pulse; her eyes stung, dry; and her body felt like a heavy pile of lead. Lifting her head off the metal slab that passed for a "bed," took deep mental effort and dedication on her part. "A paralytic," Hisana rasped out under her breath. She could hardly believe that her former division had used a paralytic on _her_.

Sitting up on the cold metal, she wavered slightly as her muscles—fiber by painful fiber—slowly began to awaken from a deep slumber. She rubbed her legs, hoping that the stimulation would rouse her before she slid off the metal bed. Her bare feet pressed against the cold tiles of the cell, and she attempted to stand. The attempt lasted a total of a few seconds before she crashed to her knees.

Hisana threw her head up and winced at the pain. It was numb at first, but it intensified with each passing minute. Not to be deterred, she bit her lip and slid forward on her knees. The thin material of her white under-kimono covered her legs and allowed her to move forward with greater ease. Instinctively, her fingers wrapped around the steel bars of her cell, and she stared out between the gaps.

"Excuse me," she rasped to a guard. He turned to her, and his eyes lit with recognition. "What are my charges, exactly?"

"Treason and sedition. Like the others," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the cellblock.

"I did not commit treason or sedition," she murmured.

"Take it up with the Central 46," he spat.

She shook her head. "What happened?"

His lips sloped into a frown. "You're not supposed to be talking to me."

"But I am," she stated matter-of-factly. "So what happened?"

"Shh," he hissed.

"What happened?" she persisted.

"There was an invasion of dissidents," he stated in a clipped exasperated tone. "Now, go pass out somewhere."

"How many?" she asked.

"Enough to cause problems. Now, shut up!"

Hisana watched him. He was agitated, likely worried that speaking to her would condemn him to a similar fate. "Why am I here?"

"They rounded up all the Shinigami from Rukongai as suspects. _You're_ from Rukongai. Now, you're _here_. So, sit in a corner somewhere and keep quiet."

Her brows lifted at the revelation. "Oh," she said softly to herself, "that seems ill advised." If true then all of the division prisons were filled with innocent Shinigami.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he chanted to himself, keeping his back to her and his face out of the line of the camera mounted on the wall above them.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked. Her mind seemingly flitted from one worry to another. She knew the Second was not the best division for keeping belongings of prisoners safe if at all. It was unspoken, but prisoners rarely left the Second alive so their property was divvied up among interested Shinigami.

The guard shot her a minatory glare.

"I ask because they are not my things."

"What part of 'shut up' do you _not_ _understand_?"

"They belong to Lord Kuchiki."

The guard's glare quickly melted to a look of horror. "What?!"

"I want to make sure the kimono returns to his estate in proper order. It is a family heirloom."

"You've made your point," he muttered.

"Good," she said, grinning wolfishly at the back of the man's head. "So how are things at the Second?" For some reason, irritating the guard seemed more interesting than sitting in the dark corner of her cell—a cell in which she did not belong.

"Shut up!" he exclaimed.

"Do not speak to my Fifth Seat with such a tone. It is impolite."

Hisana leaned forward, peering through the spaces between the bars. She knew that gentle but stern voice anywhere. "Captain Ukitake!" she greeted, smiling wide upon seeing him. Ukitake and Kaien stopped in front of her cell. "Vice Captain Shiba," she said with equal enthusiasm.

Kaien acknowledged her with an approving look.

"We have release orders from the Central 46 for my men," Ukitake stated, handing the release to the guard. The man read the notice, verified the seal, and nodded. He unlocked her cell first, and, shakily she stood, bracing some of her weight against the wall and bars of the cell to steady her gait. Her legs felt like jelly. The muscles had not fully awoken, but she forced herself forward out of the cell.

"I'll gather the men and take them to the Fourth for a checkup," Kaien said.

Ukitake gave an approving nod. The good captain then turned his attention to Hisana. "Congratulations," he said brightly. "I know this is a less than optimal manner in which to celebrate your betrothal."

Her eyes widened, and she forced a nervous half-grin. Titling her head to ensure that she heard his words correctly, Hisana's gaze begged him to explain his meaning. He merely gave her a congratulatory smile before realization dawned on him. "You did not accept?"

"I was never asked," she said in a strangled breath.

"Oh, no," Ukitake murmured alarmed, "he did not have the chance… with all of the… my apologies."

Her complexion turned a sickly shade of gray as her mind put it together. "Oh," she said. His words had knocked the air clean out of her lungs. Her brain, however, refused to process the meaning and implications. She stood, just barely, wan and holding her breath.

"My apologies," Ukitake bowed slightly as if to assuage her sudden horror.

"No," she said, breathless, "it is nothing. I heard nothing."

He nodded, turning to Kaien, who looked equally shocked. Ukitake ignored his Vice Captain's surprise. "I will deliver the orders to the Third, Sixth, and Ninth."

Kaien bowed his head. "Yes, Captain. I will collect the men from those divisions and take them to the Fourth as well."

"I don't expect harm to come to them from those divisions. You could probably give them an onceover and let them go. I will personally take the Shinigami from the Twelfth to the Fourth."

"Yes, Captain," Kaien said, glancing over Ukitake's shoulder at the orders.

Ukitake shot Hisana a conciliatory look before taking his leave. She managed a small smile—a smile that did not quite reach her eyes or her heart. Slowly, she inched out of her cell. Most of her weight was propped against the wall. Grimacing, she struggled forward.

"I can carry you," Kaien said, placing a hand against her shoulder to steady her.

Hisana shook her head. "I will leave this place under my own volition," she said resolutely through clenched teeth. She kept her promise. One step out of the Second, and she nearly collapsed.

"I told you to remain at the estate."

She knew that dry voice anywhere. A smile broke her frown, and she turned to face him. Despite her weary-eyed look, her face lit up at the sight of Byakuya. "You know I never listen," she teased. Her eyelids drooped half-open, half-closed as she gazed up at him. Her body wanted desperately to fall due to fatigue.

Sensing her exhaustion, he scooped her up. Hisana did not protest; she rested her head in the space between his neck and shoulder, and she closed her eyes. "I will see to her needs, Vice Captain," Byakuya said frankly to Kaien.

. . . .

Sleep proved to be an effective remedy. Hisana awoke refreshed buried under white sheets. Her body felt light again, lighter than before. She sat up. This was not her room. In fact, as she surveyed the area, she had never seen the room that contained her in her life. It was massive, and one of the doors had been drawn back, revealing a tempting lush garden.

Her lips thinned. Memories of hours prior sluggishly pushed forward in her mind. 'Kuchiki manor.' She shut her eyes briefly and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her covered knees. The memories, however, were not all pleasant. The encounter with her Captain needled her. Feeling her chest tighten as Ukitake's congratulatory words replayed with stunning fidelity in her head, she looked up. A shiver tore through her as she considered his meaning. If he spoke the truth then it would explain Byakuya's curious offer regarding a house. But, what gave Ukitake the idea that Byakuya would propose marriage?

She shook the thought away. There was no use in speculating, she mused. Rocking to her feet, she stood and straightened her white under-robe. She then spied a small writing desk in the corner. 'I should write a thank you note,' she thought to herself. She was halfway across the room when the _clack_ of the shoji door beckoned.

She halted and gave Sheh an over-the-shoulder look. "Yes?" she said politely.

"You are up," he said, kneeled at the threshold.

"I am."

"I trust that you are well?" he said more than asked. Without a moment's hesitation, he entered the room, bearing tea.

"I am," she said, watching him.

"The Lord of the House has requested that you remain at the estate until he returns. He said that he has an urgent matter for you to discuss."

Her heart stopped, and she went ashen. "Oh?" her voice climbed three octaves.

Sheh's brows furrowed as he examined her. "Are you sure you are well?" he asked.

Hisana nodded her head. "Urgent?" The words entered her mind on a delay.

Sheh paused for a moment. "Yes, urgent. Do you have somewhere to be?"

Her eyes narrowed at the implication that she did not have somewhere else to be. "I do serve the Thirteenth," she said sharply.

Sheh smiled knowingly. He had meant to harass her. "I am aware."

She shook her head. "Where did he go?"

"To the Sixth to handle some pressing matters from the evening before."

"The manor's security was breached," she said, taking a sip of tea as she assumed seiza near the desk. She gave a long wave of her arm, gesturing for Sheh to join her.

"Yes," he said. "That is why you left." He obliged her request, taking a seat near her.

Her eyes widened. "You know?"

"The Lord was speaking to the guards this morning." Sheh hesitated as he reconsidered his wording. "'Speaking' may be a little too charitable. He reprimanded them for their inadequacies."

She was shocked. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. He was very adamant. He even set them on a new grueling training regime."

She winced. "The intruder really was not much," she said softly. It was the Second that did her in. The young rebel was woefully unskilled.

"Yes, but if they had handled the situation, you would have been protected from the Chamber's executive orders."

"Would I?" Her eyes and tenor spoke her skepticism at his observation. Hisana strongly doubted Kuchiki manor was immune from the Central 46's executive orders when it came to treason and sedition. No noble was immune by rank alone against those specific charges.

"Your name would have been placed on the list, of course. But he would have cleared you before any adverse action was taken."

She smiled grimly. She had no doubt that he would have done that. He did not miss a thing. "He is a very good man."

Sheh's gaze trailed to the tatami. "He is."

"So, what is so urgent that he must speak to me this morning?"

Sheh gave a slow shake of his head. "I do not know."

Hisana's brow lifted. He was a bad liar. "Of course you know."

He shook his head. "Even if I did know, it is his news to give."

"News?" Her mind scrutinized the word for some hidden meaning.

"You will know soon enough," he said, jerking his head up. "I will attend to him." Sheh stood, bowed, and departed in a summary fashion.

Hisana smiled, happy that Byakuya was in residence. Her joy, however, melted when she remembered that he had "news" to convey. Nerves crackled under her skin. Muscles flexed. Her heart swelled, and her stomach clenched. Apprehensive, she felt pain sparking at her lip. She had unconsciously bit her bottom lip too hard. Reflexively, she placed the side of her index finger against her mouth, and she stared hard into the tatami. Silent and wide-eyed, she counted straws just as Byakuya had done the day before.

'What if Captain Ukitake was right?' Part of her considered the possibility that the "news" was as Ukitake had indicated. 'How would he have known?' the more cautious part of her sang. She knew that her captain often took tea with Byakuya. She also knew that her captain was on the receiving end of many secrets and confidences. 'What will I do?'

She startled when she heard the rustle of the shoji door. Her hands flew to her chest. "Lord Kuchiki," she said, immediately bowing her head. Her throat tensed as she tried to catch her breath. When she found her courage, she glanced up, half-expecting to find him calmly looking down at her. What she found was quite the contrary. He refused to meet her gaze. His head was tilted at a downward angle, and his eyes were glued to the floor. His chest appeared tight as if he was holding air and had forgotten to exhale.

Her brows furrowed. Perhaps, he came bearing bad news. Had someone just died? The dissidents did not seem to be _that_ fierce. She had apprehended one while minding an expensive kimono. "Lord Kuchiki, is all well?" she asked in an even voice.

He gave her a fleeting glance. Reaching the desk, he paused and looked up. His eye-line was slightly above her. Absently, she shared his gaze and turned her head to see if some monster had suddenly manifested at her back. "Lord Kuchiki?" her voice was quiet and slow. Each syllable felt like its own mini-sentence.

Byakuya lifted his head, and his gaze trailed to the side. His jaws clenched, and he inhaled a deep breath. 'This is weighty news indeed,' Hisana mused to herself. Instinctively, she leaned forward, eager to receive his words.

He shook his head. She knew that shake of the head: He was revising his sentence—a mental edit. He did not meet her gaze for a few painfully long moments, and, when he did, she smiled, hoping that she could coax the words out of his mouth. Another shake of the head, and he paced.

Hisana had never seen Byakuya pace. She had _heard_ of him pacing. 'What did Sheh once say? When he paced that meant he was… distressed? No, distant? Not that either. _Distraught_. Yes, pacing means that he is _distraught_.' She observed him for a moment. 'A very contained sort of distraught.' She smiled back the giggle that tickled in her throat. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, very much wanting to assuage his clearly fraying nerves, "is everything alri—"

He stopped cold and stared at her intensely. "Will you consent to becoming my wife?" His words were so quick and jumbled, she had a hard time making them out. Dumbly, she stared at him. Her brain worked a mile a minute to process the tangled consonants.

"Lord Kuchiki, please, sit," she said gently.

His attention was on her and her only. Slowly, his body obliged her request. But he continued to stare at her, looking for any signs of an answer. Meeting his gaze, she smiled sweetly at him.

A few long moments passed.

"Did I ask a question?" he asked, somewhat frantic.

"Yes," she said, giving a slow nod of her head.

"Did you respond?"

Her smile lengthened. "Yes," she spoke her answer.

He stared at her. "What was it?" He appeared deeply out of sorts.

"Yes. I consent."

Byakuya exhaled, and he averted his gaze to the desk. A few seconds passed, and, as she had anticipated, his attention turned to her again. "You consented to marrying me?"

"Yes," she giggled. "Would you like me to put it in writing?" For a moment, he considered the question in earnest. "It was a joke," she teased.

He nodded to himself, stood, and gave her a deep bow before turning on his heel. Confused, she watched him exit the room. 'I did give him a satisfactory answer?' she wondered, staring at the door.

Sheh was quick to enter the room. An excited look painted across his face. "Please, come," he said gesturing toward her. "We have a great many things to discuss."

Hisana's smile faded as she considered the actual _marriage ceremony_ and the amount of planning and preparation that likely went into such a thing. The preparations combined with the fact that she was sure that his family disapproved of her proved problematic. 'A bad combination indeed…'

Happiness came bittersweet.


	22. Blood

**Chapter 21: Blood**

Spluttering blood. Red, red blood trickled from her lips, and her body flashed hot and cold at varying intervals. Darkness entered her mind and draped over her vision. When she regained consciousness, the world came to her as a collage of images: White overhead lights. A gurney. Grey bedrails. A vase of flowers.

It was the Fourth. She knew the smell, the sounds, and the low rumble well. In the distance, she could hear the beeps and hisses of the medical machines; she could hear the sounds of wheels skidding against the tile floors; the noise of nurses, Shinigami, and physicians calling to each other. They spoke strange coded words—words that were long and held meaning only to the medical providers.

Her mission had gone awry. She no long remembered how, exactly, it had gone awry. The memories, seemingly, wiped from her mental inventory. Her stay at the Fourth memorialized her failure.

"You are awake."

She rolled her head toward the sound. Her mind struggled for a few moments to comprehend the noise, stripping the inflection and emotion away as it did so. Just mechanical words assailed her—amplified. The man seated by her bed was an older gentleman. He wore a white laboratory coat with a pen clipped to the jacket pocket. He watched her through narrowly set blue eyes. Expressive and wiry grey brows hung over his piercing eyes, softening them and giving them an empathetic look.

Hisana blinked. The doctor had spoken sentiments that she had not heard. She knew this because he was staring at her intently as if he was waiting for a response. "I'm sorry, I did not hear you," she rasped in a labored breath.

His lips lengthened into a smile. "Your men are alive, and the mission was successful."

She released a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

His smile faded, and an intense stare creased his face. "We have an important matter to discuss that pertains to your health." His voice was cool and clinical. "You are —"

Her eyelids drooped down. She fought the silky urge to sleep. A part of her mind started, and she blinked back the darkness that crept over her. She could see his lips moving, but his words did not reach her. A dull mental static filled her ears, and sound ceased. Her eyelids snapped shut, and she sank into a deep slumber.

The machines crashed.

. . . .

Byakuya gripped the damp cloth in his hands. His fingers deftly pulled the material open, revealing what once had been a white nagajuban. Blood—a deep red—stained the fibers of the garment. Only splotches of white remained, dotting the collar and hem of the right sleeve.

He stared into the fabric, despondent. Why had they given it to him? What was the purpose? His lips pulled into a frown, and his eyes narrowed. Thoughts buzzed in his head, tearing through his brain. He had inquired about her health, and they had given him a bloodied undergarment as some sort of reply. What answer was that? Were they too afraid to speak the truth?

His mind focused on the nagajuban. The seams were cheaply sewed, and the ends tattered. A blade had torn the fabric. Judging by the fraying, the attack had come from the back. Wordlessly locked in his own head, he continued to examine every stitch, eyes roaming hungrily over the material. He saw everything except the red. He considered everything but the implications. His _mind_ simply did not want to entertain what holding a blood soaked nagajuban _meant_. The heart _knew_. It fluttered—rapid beats followed by cold refusals.

"She is being intubated in the MICU."

In a long movement, he looked up at the member of the Fourth. She was a young girl with silvery hair. She wore the most sympathetic of looks as she watched him. There were no words.

"We thought she was stabilized."

"_Thought_?" There was a cold sharp edge to his voice. An even colder look caught in his eyes.

The girl tensed under his stare. "Yes, Lord Kuchiki. She crashed, but we are working hard to stabilize her." She said, trying her best to sound firm but soothing. Her voice, however, trembled, betraying her inner apprehension. "You look pale, Lord Kuchiki. Perhaps you should sit."

Byakuya stared at her blankly. "What happened?" he snapped out the question defensively, sensing that the woman was moving toward him. He did not want comfort. He did not want to sit. He did not want to be placated. He just wanted to process what it all _meant_. His brain, however, was not cooperating.

"She was brought to the Fourth in critical condition. She suffered several deep puncture wounds. Her renal artery was lacerated, and she underwent intensive surgery. We believed that her condition was stable at 5:25 am this morning, but she crashed. We have been working on her for approximately 2 hours."

He stared at her as if he suddenly went deaf. A feeling of déjà vu crashed over him. Her words were incoherent. All he could read was her look. She was empathetic—genuinely empathetic—to his pain. He _hated_ that look. The Shinigami of the Fourth brandished the look like a weapon. A member of the Fourth had worn that particular look when they informed his family of his mother's condition, shortly before she died. Empathy tinged with sadness had been the expression wielded against him when his father was dying. It was the same damned look when his grandfather was ill.

"Please, Lord Kuchiki, rest. You look ill." She did not take another step in his direction; his glower stayed her. Instead, she merely waved her arm toward a chair. "There is nothing you can do except wait." Her words were a knife—a familiar knife—twisting deeply into his heart.

. . . .

Hisana's eyes opened. Blinding harsh light. Her vision was bleary; the white light bleached and blurred the world around her. Slow but steady, her mind drew from its slumber. Instinctively, she sat up in the bed, rousing her stiff muscles. Her body felt surprisingly spry, but there was a sharp stinging sensation pulsating from her back. "Ugh," she cried, glancing over her shoulder. Instinctively, her fingertips ghosted over the bandage that covered the angry wound that marked her flesh. The white thick gauze was hot. She began to pull at the corners of the medical tape. There was so much gauze, she noted to herself, the wound must have been deep. Her fingers adroitly began to pry the ends back.

"Don't," a firm voice crashed over her. Her muscles locked, and her gaze flew to her bedside. Inhaling a shaky breath, she smiled when she saw Byakuya seated in a wooden chair next to her bed.

"Lord Kuchiki," she said, exhaling, "how unkind to scare me like that," she teased in a high playful lilt.

He watched her with a look of concern. "Rest." He reached over the bed. His hand grasped her shoulder, and he gently guided her back to the pillow. Responsive to his cool touch, she settled against the mattress.

"What happened?" she asked.

A small, almost imperceptible, smile ghosted across his face. "I was about to ask you a similar question." He seemed genuinely happy to see her. To an untrained eye, he wore his patented look of indifference. But, she could detect the smallest changes in him. She had learned to appreciate his subtly from the glint in his eyes to the change in spiritual pressure.

She shook her head. "I don't remember anything."

He tilted his head to the side. "Nothing?"

She gave another shake of her head. "Wiped clean."

Byakuya appeared concerned: His indifference melted, and, if she looked closely, she could see a wrinkle form between his brows. "Have you mentioned this to the physician?"

She managed a worn smile. "I have been incapacitated."

"That is an acceptable excuse," he stated dryly.

Her smile lengthened. "I am glad you approve," she teased.

"What do you last recall?"

"A hell butterfly called me from the manor. When I made it to the Thirteenth, I was given an infiltration assignment." Her eyes widened slightly, and her gaze shot over to him, scrutinizing his face. As she suspected, his countenance blackened.

"Proceed," he stated flatly. The gleam in his eye dimmed. He was all careful analytics now.

Hisana pressed her lips together. She knew the assignment would perturb him. When the Second handed the assignment down to the Thirteenth, she had a gut instinct that he would fight it the moment he learned of it. Briefly, she wondered if that had been the case. "I was placed in the Fifth's detention block to carry out a recon mission. They had two high priority rebel targets there, and they believed they possessed information regarding the specifics of a pending attack. I remember very little after being placed in the detention block." Her lips parted as if she had remembered something else, but a cough stifled her words.

Byakuya leaned forward and placed a hand against her shoulder, bracing her. In a vain attempt to soothe her, he rubbed her back—small tentative circles. Her fit persisted. Deep coughs drew her breath, and she leaned forward. One hand clenched her chest, and the other hand shielded her mouth. Gasping, she gave a powerful cough, which elicited a loud "pop" from her chest. Her complexion went white at the sudden wave of pain that crested over her.

Byakuya immediately left her side to summon a nurse.

The spell persisted, and, with each breath, her chest tensed, and pain sparked like a live wire under her ribs. "Miss Hisana," a member of the Fourth cried. Hisana glanced up. Her eyes narrowed, pain creased her face, and blood trickled down her lips. "Please," the young nurse said softly. With a gentle touch, she helped Hisana adjust her weight against the pillow to prevent straining. When the nurse detected blood, she leaned over the bed and pressed a few buttons. She then moved to the side of the bed and began to go through the drawers for items. Locating a vile and a syringe, she quickly loaded the syringe with serum and transferred the solution to the IV bag. Manipulating the IV, she glanced back at Hisana. "Lord Kuchiki, I am going to ask you to leave when the physicians arrive."

Byakuya comforted Hisana, holding her hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He glanced up at the nurse. A defiant glint radiated in his eyes, but he did not air the protest written on his face.

"The room is too small, and we will have to examine her." The nurse was insistent, as were the doctors when they arrived. After several long minutes, one of the physicians, an elderly man, exited the room to speak with Byakuya.

"I realize this must be difficult," the man began in a rehearsed manner, "but she will improve."

Byakuya glared at him—suspect of the man's canned demeanor.

"She likely has aspiration pneumonia from the intubation. She is weak, and the coughing attack caused a cracked rib."

"Several critical wounds, pneumonia, and a cracked rib?" The laundry list of problems did not assuage Byakuya's concern. It chilled him. A quiet, icy furry rose within him.

"Deep wounds, a lacerated but healing artery, organ damage, pneumonia, a cracked rib, tearing of the intercostal muscles, and wasting," the physician corrected.

"Wasting?" Byakuya blanched.

The doctor nodded. "Due to the severity of the wounds and the infection, she is wasting—nutrients and reiatsu." Observing Byakuya's reaction, the doctor led him away from the room and toward a chair. "You look tired. Go get some rest and return tomorrow. There is nothing," the physician's lips snapped closed upon receiving a pained look from the Kuchiki Lord.

"How long until she can…" Byakuya's voice trailed.

The doctor shook his head and closed his eyes. A grim expression darkened his wizened features. "A long while, Lord Kuchiki. She responds to treatment, but she is very injured. Even under your family's care, she would not survive a day in her current condition." Taking stock of the young lord, he paused before continuing, "We are moving her back to the Medical Intensive Care Unit for closer observation. Go home. Get some rest. I will ensure that you know when she is able to receive visitors."

Powerless and defeated, Byakuya agreed. He, however, did not take defeat lightly or well. He returned to the manor, worked into the early hours of the morning, and left for the Sixth, where he trained his men. He labored to keep his mind occupied.

Days passed, and he received no word from the Fourth.

"Lord Kuchiki," Sheh pleaded. In the servant's arms was a tray of food and tea. Sheh even brought sake just in case. Anything to put his Lord to sleep, he did not care how it happened. "You have not eaten or slept in a week. Miss Hisana would be heartbroken to know that you are suffering like this."

"I am not tired," Byakuya said between brush strokes. He drowned his worries in paperwork.

"Hunger then?" Sheh placed the food and drink neatly on the desk. "Surely, you must be hungry. You have so much spiritual power; it must deplete you."

Byakuya gave the items a cursory onceover. "Sake?" he glanced up at his body servant knowingly.

Sheh smiled. "A recommendation. I considered drugging your tea, but I thought that would arouse suspicions."

Byakuya shook his head. His reached extended past the food; his long fingers wrapped around the warm sake cup. He brought the rim of the container to his lips, and he drank. A somber look turned the lines of his face down, and he stared into the empty cup.

Wordlessly, Sheh filled the cup. "Eat. I don't want the Lord of the noble Kuchiki family expiring from alcohol poisoning."

"Sake from the World of the Living?" Byakuya asked, feeling the effects of the liquor.

"The most potent kind," Sheh said, subtly pushing the food forward. Byakuya caught the movement, and he glared at Sheh. "A suggestion," Sheh said sheepishly.

Byakuya turned to his paperwork. Picking up the brush was as an implied dismissal of the servant. Sheh bowed before turning on his heel. Byakuya watched the servant leave out of the corner of his eye. A lingering look at the door was the only break he spared himself as he worked into the early hours of the next day.

At the break of dawn, he stood. His muscles and joints ached from the hours set in seiza. Quietly, he changed into his at home clothing, and he folded his garments and placed them on a small desk to be cleaned. Adjusting the fall of the robes, he smoothed down the wrinkles of the fresh kimono. The color—a muted grey—matched his mood.

Tiredly, he flung back the door to his room and began out of the manor. A stroll, he thought, would ease his mind. Perhaps, then, he could sleep for a few hours before work. He followed the footpath from his estate to some unknown location. His feet, however, knew the direction. When he arrived at the covered bridge, he was not surprised. He _was_ surprised, however, to find another lingering on the bridge.

Byakuya did not divert his path. Instead, he stood on the opposite end. His hands gripped the coarse wooden railing, and he stared out onto the water. The phosphorescent lilies were beginning to dim. Glancing skyward, the firmament was slowly brightening. The dark blues of nightfall transformed into a deep lavender color. The sun would rise soon, he thought somberly to himself.

"Any word?"

Byakuya started at the voice. He lifted his head and gave the Vice Captain a hesitant sidelong gaze. "No," he murmured, instinctively knowing what Kaien had meant with the question.

Kaien turned back to the water. He appeared worried with his brow furrowed and an intense look in his eye. "Nothing here either."

Byakuya scrutinized him with cold but probing eyes. The two men had never gotten along. They had always been rivals of sorts. Kaien was older and more adept, having faced tribulations many times before Byakuya had. Kaien was also warmer than Byakuya and more critical. He was extremely censorious about authority. He lacked the respect that Byakuya held for law. Byakuya constantly had to remind himself (or Yoruichi and then Sojun, after her, reminded him) that this preference did not mean that Kaien did not have a code. Kaien had a code; it was just different. Kaien believed his duty was to protect those closest to him. He believed that "justice" was a broad ever changing ideal: If you did the "right" thing when the chance presented itself then that was all you could do. Byakuya's birthright, however, did not accord him such an attitude. Rules were his tree, and duty was his rope at times.

With one exception: Hisana.

When it came to his decision to take her as a wife, the rules' tethers could not reach him. He severed his bounds then. His family had been adamant about his duty. So many rules and bylaws should have constrained his decision, but he had refused them all. The fight had been a bloodless one, but it had been long and hard fought nonetheless. A thousand times over, he promised to uphold the rules as penitence, but she would be his wife, and she would be happy under his care.

"Did you make your offer?" Kaien asked. His voice rolled over Byakuya at a low rumble, almost imperceptible.

Byakuya's head jerked up. It was an inelegant movement and even more inelegant look. How would Shiba know? The noble assumed that Kaien was referring to his proposal, and he was correct in that assumption.

"Captain Ukitake broke the news when she was at the Second's jail."

The timeline flashed in his head. His eyes betrayed his inner mortification. She knew beforehand? She had not spoken a word about it. Of course she would not mention it, he rebuked himself. She would not have stolen the moment from him.

Kaien shook his head in response. "She accepted, I take it?"

Byakuya turned his gaze to the stream. Yellow sunbeams glinted off the waves bobbing up and down in the water. Silvery scales reflected the sun's effulgence as the fish breached the surface of the water, looking for food. He refused to indulge Kaien's impertinent questions. Instead, he stared remotely into the distance, refusing to admit that he took some comfort in the noble's presence. They were both at the bridge seeking a common purpose—relief from a grief that would not cease. Kaien appeared to be more put together, more confident, than Byakuya, however. Byakuya envied the Vice Captain that trait. A hardheaded steadfastness clung to Kaien. The same trait in Byakuya had been dismissed as "reckless abandon," by his grandfather. He had shed it years ago. For the most part.

"Of course she would," Kaien added, moments later. "She'd be crazy not to."

Byakuya looked askance at the Vice Captain. He leveled a measured glance—no anger or remoteness gleamed in his eyes. He was doleful. "It has been seven days," he murmured.

Kaien's brows lifted; he appeared somewhat surprised that Byakuya acknowledged him. He tilted his head to the side as he considered Byakuya's observation. "She crashed again two days ago," he said softly.

Byakuya turned toward Kaien, clearly taken aback by the news. His gaze implored the Vice Captain to continue.

"Kotetsu, our Fourth Seat, has a sister, Isane, at the Fourth." Kaien paused; his expression soured as if the next thought left an acrid taste in his mouth. "They cannot stabilize her spiritual power."

"Wasting?"

Kaien grimaced. "And sudden spikes. The bursts caused so much disruption that they have quarantined her."

"The cause?"

Kaien gave a long shake of his head. His jaws clenched, and he glanced downward. A sense of solemnity swelled between the men. The air thickened and chilled, making inhaling a hazardous endeavor. The air was heavy and pierced the sensitive lining of the throat and the lungs. "I did not send her on the mission," Kaien said under his breath.

Byakuya stared at the Vice Captain. He had not cast the aspersion aloud even if he had blamed Kaien in the sanctuary of his own thoughts. Many times he had checked the logic, wondering where it all went awry. Between his duties as the leader of his family and at the Sixth, his mind filled with thoughts of how it could have been avoided. He pondered long and deep. And among the many amalgamations that assailed him, he had never once considered whether Kaien knew or consented. Kaien knew. He had to have known. "Who did?"

Kaien stared through Byakuya. "I don't know. Likely, Miyako approved it. Her orders were by way of the Second."

"The Fifth," Byakuya stated coolly. The Fifth had seemingly used the Second as a proxy once before. There was nothing to suggest that this was different. But why? Digging too deeply into the matter had always proven troublesome. There was no motive. There was nothing to indicate that she had any value to the Fifth, and Captain Aizen was a noble scholarly captain. He was an upstanding Shinigami by all accounts.

Kaien appeared to be stumped as well. "Captain Aizen had made her an offer some time ago." It was the only fact that Kaien possessed that would seem to indicate that Hisana had any value to the Fifth. Perhaps, they just weren't _seeing_ _it_. A crucial fact was missing.

Byakuya's brows furrowed.

Kaien inclined his head, somewhat amused that Byakuya was not privy to this information. "After your Vice Captaincy test, the Fifth made her an offer. A higher seat than the one either the Thirteenth or the Sixth made."

Byakuya's eyes betrayed that he was woefully out of the loop on the matter. He knew nothing about her several offers. Not even the offer at the Sixth.

"I foreclosed her opportunity to consider the other offers. But, there must be something in her file that interests the Fifth."

"What was the mission, exactly?"

Kaien stood stone-faced. "Come to the Thirteenth."

. . . .

Glossy marble mirrored her image back at her. 'I am dreaming,' Hisana thought to herself, taking a second to spy her reflection. She was young. Very young. It was before her sister's birth.

'A memory?' Hisana wondered.

She looked up to see that she only reached waist-high on all of the adults. Scanning her surroundings revealed that she was at the palace. Her heart soared, and she beamed. She knew every alcove and crevice well. She had even mapped out the secret underground lairs—winding roads that her family had used as an escape during times of siege. Hisana wanted desperately to run forward and to explore. It had been so long—too long—since she had a memory of her home. She had tried to purge those memories eons ago, thinking them too beautiful to keep. She was sullied now, and she did not deserve the pleasures of her past.

The memory, however, stifled her urge to romp through the palace. She had not frolicked then. No. She was putting on her best "Lovely Little Lady" face. Her family was receiving someone of import. However, glancing up, there were only attendants accompanying her. Her nurse, a lovely caring woman, stood behind her. Her bodyguards stood on either side of her, and, in front, her father's majordomo, a thin sickly man, bowed deeply.

Little Hisana, however, paid the guests no heed. Instead, she occupied her thoughts with how pretty her new gown felt against her skin. She lifted an arm—gold brocade. Her favorite.

"The princess," the majordomo announced, gesturing to her. Instinctively, her head bobbed up, and she saw the only thing that could possibly interest a girl her age—another young child. Ignoring the adults that she would have to strain to see, she immediately took several long strides forward to the boy child. Adult's robes obscured his face.

"Hello," she said in the sudden yet tone-deaf way that children announce their friendship. The little princess stopped just short of the boy, and she bowed deeply just like her nurse had shown her. The boy, a Lord's son, pulled the material away from his eyes, and he stared down at her in horror.

Jerking up into ramrod straight position, she finally met the boy's gaze. He had bright grey-blue eyes, dark hair, and strange hair ornaments. He looked so _intense_ as if he was trying to convince himself that he was not frightened but mighty. She giggled, "What are those?" she asked, pointing at the white headpiece.

In the background, adult voices played in the air, serving as background music: _"Yes, she is the eldest. We have another on the way."_

He scowled at her. "It is my kenseikan!" he spat at her. His eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin down.

_"She is very fiery. A spitfire of a daughter. The oracle promises that the next female child will be more composed. She will have water in her soul." _

She chortled. "That is a funny name," she teased. Intrigued, she reached to touch it, but he was quick to swat her hand away. Not to be deterred, she employed a well-timed flashstep and stole one of the white pieces. He was quick to give chase. She was only mildly amused that his ability at flashstep rivaled her own. She, however, had a distinct advantage, knowing the terrain. She quickly diverted the path to a winding staircase, sure that he would stop before meeting a steep drop. The little lord, however, was determined to catch her, and he misjudged.

Terror ripped through her when she realized that he would fall, and she yanked him back. Her fingers tangled in his haori, and the two went tumbling back into a large fountain of water. After the tumult, the little princess pinned him down in the water. Wide-eyed and panicked, she stared into the rippling liquid. "Oh no!" she cried. He was pale, and his eyes shut. "Don't be dead. Don't be dead," she chanted to herself. Quickly, she grabbed him up by his collar, and she pulled him out of the fountain, which was no easy feat for her diminutive frame. Adrenaline, however, coursed through her, causing her to ignore the burn of her muscles fatiguing as she dragged him to safety.

"Are you alright?" she asked, voice shaking. She shivered when he did not respond. "Please," she begged. With a light touch, she slapped his face. His skin was cold and slick. Frantic, she began to recount the many stories of sleeping people. Most of the stories centered on sleeping _princesses_. "A kiss," she murmured, "A kiss always wakes the sleeping." It all suddenly made sense why she saw people kissing when someone was dying; a kiss must have been an effective antidote for death.

Inhaling a deep breath (for she was sure that one could not breathe during a kiss), she leaned over the sleeping lord and pressed her mouth against his. For several long moments, her mouth lingered on his lips. She then closed her eyes. Nearing the end of her oxygen supply, she pulled away just in time for the young lord to splutter water out of his mouth.

His eyes flew back, and he stared up at her. Terror streaked his face. He struggled against her, pulling away. "Did you _kiss me_?" His indignation was palpable.

She gasped, equally as horrified. "I thought you were… You looked… It doesn't matter," she stammered, waving her hand in front of her face.

He stared at her, wide-eyed and _furious_. "A _girl_ kissed me?" He sounded disgusted.

She folded her arms in front of her chest and fumed. "I _saved_ you!"

"You _kissed_ me!"

"I _saved_ you," she repeated. "It doesn't even matter! I mean, isn't that what husbands and wives _do_ anyway?" she snorted.

He gaped at her. "_What?!"_

"Princess!" It was her nurse, who first found them. The woman quickly scooped her up in her arms and checked her face. Squeezing her cheeks and forcing her head to the side, she examined Hisana. "Are you feeling well, Princess?" she asked, worried.

"I am fine. _He_'s the one that _died_," she said, lifting her arm and pointing to the waterlogged lord.

The nurse quickly spun around to examine the boy. Bending slightly, she glanced down at the child. "Attendants!" she called, turning her gaze to the army of servants storming toward them.

Hisana startled. Her eyes opened, and she could see the glass fish bowl that was her MICU room. The machines beeped rhythmically at her side. The multiple IVs shackled her to the bed. She could hardly move.

Exhaustion pulled her back down.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and another memory flew forward.

It started out the same. But, her image reflected in the marble revealed her to be older. She was an adolescent. Her robes were heavier now—more constraining. Gone were the simple brocade designs and unfettered hair of youth. She wore makeup now, and her body servants had labored over her tresses, fashioning her hair into an intricate design. Delicate hair bobbles and finely spun glass flowers pinned her black locks.

Her stride, too, had matured. She no longer stomped or clomped over the glossy floors. Her step was lighter, soundless, now. Her retinue of servants and bodyguards had also grown. Her father worried over her. She was a volatile youth, prone to following whatever flight of fancy assailed her. "Head strong," had been her mother's descriptive. "Fiery," was the euphemism used by her father's majordomo. "Self-possessed," was what her father called her. She liked to think of herself in terms of the latter. She loved her father, noble and wise.

Her father, however, did not attend the meeting. In his stead was the majordomo. "Many apologies," the majordomo began, bowing.

She was no longer waist-high. She could see her elders with ease, but her gaze remained trained on the burnished marble. When she grew bored staring into her reflection, her eyes observed the deep red silk of her kimono. An expert artist had painted pink butterflies on the hems, and she smiled grimly. The adults' boring drawl wafted over her, but she could easily tune them out. She had honed the skill as a child.

"_The Princess is fiery. But her sister is a calm infant. She rarely cries, and she is easy to soothe."_ The unspoken sentiments: _Please, choose the baby princess if you know what is best for your son._

Hisana lifted her head when she heard the words. Her eyes narrowed at the majordomo. She hated the way he spoke of her sister. She was not _some_ _chattel_. She was a babe then. Who could possibly be interested in marrying their son to an infant? Indignant, she turned her attention to the guests. Her eyes widened slightly upon realizing that they were all staring at her. Even the young lord—the same lord from years ago. He was an adolescent now—tall and wiry but handsome nonetheless. The same defiant look glinted in his eye as he watched her.

She smiled demurely at him, and her cheeks flushed. 'How embarrassing,' she thought to herself, remembering thieving his white headpiece. Yet, as her gaze flickered up briefly, she felt tempted to try it again. She smiled back the chuckle tingling at the back of her throat. As was the custom, the elders allowed the two adolescents a few moments to speak to one another just within eyeshot. Allegedly, it was so the families could see if the two appeared suitable together. 'For pictures,' Hisana could only assume.

"Do not harm the princess this time," a sharp request.

The young lord bowed dutifully. "Yes, Grandfather."

Tucking her hands inside her sleeves, she kept her head bowed and her eyes to the floor. She hoped to appear as delicate and unobtrusive as possible. He drew to her side, and, wordlessly, she led him toward a massive reflecting pool. A smile pulled the corners of her lips up as she remembered their kiss there many years prior. 'How embarrassing,' she mused again.

"You are not going to torment me?" he asked, glimpsing her slyly out of the corner of his eye.

She lifted her head and smiled at him chastely. "I am _fiery_," she teased back, "but my sister, while only a baby, is a _wunderkind_."

He returned her smile. "Must be hard living in the shadow of an infant."

She giggled. "You have no idea." Bowing her head, she averted her gaze from the handsome lord, and her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink. She was not used to members of the opposite sex staring at her so intently. Briefly, she wondered if he was plotting revenge.

"Your flower," he said, reaching to stabilize the glass ornament. His fingers wrapped around the delicate glass stem, and, with a sharp tug, he plucked it from her hair.

She jerked her head up. She could hardly believe it. Immediately, she gave chase. Catching him proved an easy matter for he stopped suddenly. Adroitly, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a small alcove before an adult could catch them in their play. Tauntingly, he held the ornament above her head, just out of reach. "This is very cruel," she cried, pawing at the air.

With a firm hand, he pinned her shoulder against the stone wall, and he dipped his head down. Before she could protest, he stifled her words with a kiss. Long and deep. Her heart fluttered, and she felt a warm sensation pool within her.

When he broke away, she gave a small cry. Her eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and worry, and her voice failed her. He merely stared down at her, confident in his action. "I reclaimed the kiss you stole from me," he said softly. His breath, warm and fragrant like expensive tea, skated across her cheek.

She blushed. Nervously, her eyes dropped to the floor. "My apolo," but before she could get the word out, he took her by the wrist and pulled her forward.

"Such a handsome couple," one of his female attendants cooed. Her words quickly alerted the army of servants to their location.

"Indeed," her majordomo said upon reaching the two. The adults gave their parting speeches, and Hisana glanced up at the young lord. He met her gaze, and he bowed his farewell. Before parting, he carefully fingered her glass flower and dropped it in his pocket.

She shook her head, and, cocking a brow, she lifted her hand to reveal a portion of his white headpiece caught between her fingers.

He responded with a sly grin.

"Byakuya Kuchiki," Hisana called out. Her voice breached the white noise of machines tethered to her. Her eyes flew open to find Byakuya seated at her bedside. No longer was she in her palatial home encumbered by fine silks and expensive bobbles. She was no longer an adolescent, and neither was Byakuya. No. She was dressed in a simple hospital gown, lying in one of the Fourth's rooms.

Instinctively, Byakuya leaned over her bed railing and clasped her hand in his. "Hisana?" Byakuya gazed down at her. His eyes betrayed both his horror and relief.

"Lord Kuchiki," she murmured, feeling incredibly embarrassed that she had referred to him so informally. Her cheeks heated, turning a bright shade of red. "Apologies," she rasped out.

"For what?"

"For everything," she said, squeezing his hand. Apparently, she had been a thorn in his side for _years_.

His brows furrowed, and he watched her with such a kind look. Her heart broke.

"Do you still have a glass flower?" she asked at length. The memories buried for many years brought her intense joy. She merely prayed that inquiring after them would not expose her.

Silently, Byakuya examined her with a questioning look. He tilted his head to the side. He found her question peculiar, she could tell. But, he indulged her. "How do you know of my glass flower?"

She smiled widely. "I heard a story."

A small grin thinned his lips as he recalled the memory, but it was quick to fade. He paled as he observed her. She could tell that he was comparing her against the mental image of the princess that he had unearthed in his head. Shaking his head, he gently caressed her brow, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Rest," he commanded softly.


	23. In Dreams

******AN:** This chapter is a little different. Much of this chapter centers on a dream that befalls Hisana while she is recovering at the Fourth (a continuation of the previous chapter). The dream itself concerns the "what if" scenario of the sisters (Hisana and Rukia) not being separated at the beginning. As it is only a dream, it does not affect the plot of the current story (beyond providing character insight and potential foreshadowing). Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22: In Dreams**

Byakuya Kuchiki returned to his manor, where he collapsed from exhaustion. Hisana was alive, and her condition was stabilized. He had seen her with his own eyes, and she was cognizant—aware of his presence and her surroundings. It had been a good day.

Sleep, however, did not come easy. Dreams, increasingly becoming a thing of the past, were held at bay. Instead, he was plunged into his inner world. He was weary and in no mood to placate an anxious Senbonzakura. But, there he was.

The world was abloom in a constant and eternal spring. Thousands of cherry blossom trees of a thousand different varieties gave their pale pink petals to the wind. As he passed, the petals left their branches, swirling around him. Gone was their edge. The petals here were exactly that—soft fragile blossoms.

He ignored the cloud of petals until they manifested into the samurai that Byakuya had come to know so well. Kneeling, Senbonzakura stared down at the ground, respectfully. Byakuya observed his Zanpakutō with a sober look. He stifled the urge to rebuke Senbonzakura for his lack of haste. Instead, he stared austerely into the middle distance.

"Amaterasu is unwell," Senbonzakura stated in a solemn tone.

Byakuya considered his Zanpakutō's words, amused that it appeared lovesick. Briefly, he wondered if Hisana's Zanpakutō was similarly disposed. "Go on," he commanded, sensing that his Zanpakutō had more to convey.

"She cries in pain. She wanes and waxes violently."

"Her mistress is improving." Byakuya could hardly believe that he had to _comfort_ his own Zanpakutō. Should it not be the other way around? Did not Senbonzakura have words of solace or insight? For a moment, he wondered if it just took longer for his Zanpakutō to catch up to where he was. And, if so, what did that say about _him_? Was he _that_ emotionally dense? Senbonzakura was a reflection of his own soul, after all. Years of practiced apathy—slowly turning off the spigot to his own emotions—had retarded his own Zanpakutō's emotional capacity. _Perfect_, he mused humorlessly, wondering if self-realization would reach Senbonzakura on a delay as well. "I will bring you to Amaterasu tonight." It was a consolation prize.

Senbonzakura glanced up at his master. "Her mistress improves, but she does not." he lamented.

Byakuya lifted his head. Shock. It washed over him, sinking his stomach and stopping his heart. _What did that mean?_ Perhaps Senbonzakura was being extravagant with his feelings? The Zanpakutō was predisposed to certain strange _quirks_—quirks that Byakuya had labored to train away for his own sake. "Continue." Byakuya was a mixture of annoyed and panicked.

Senbonzakura shook his head. "Violence is the only sound I can hear. She seems so distant."

Byakuya exhaled a troubled breath. "If I take you to her?"

Senbonzakura lifted his gaze. "If you will command it."

Byakuya stared down at his Zanpakutō as if it had gone dumb. It was so obvious. "Of course," he said tightly. His features hardened.

No sleep for the weary.

. . . .

No windows and no clocks. Hisana wondered if the Fourth was specifically designed to try her patience. She sat propped up on a pile of pillows, staring into a magazine. She hated magazines from the World of the Living. Everything seemed so perfect. Too perfect. No one looked sad or afraid. The women were all lovely creatures, who dressed in the most _perfect_ dresses. She wanted to rip the magazine to shreds. She, however, managed to contain herself. Or, rather, the clinking of her privacy curtain being pulled back stayed her fingers.

"Lord Kuchiki," she greeted, smiling.

"I told you to rest," he said, placing a hand against the hilt of his sword.

Her eyes trained on his gesture. "Isn't it a little early to want to do me in? We aren't even married yet," she murmured sardonically.

He cocked his head to the side and shot her a bored stare. He was too drained for sarcasm.

"You look tired," she said, eyes still glued to his hilt.

"I am," he said, "but my Zanpakutō would have it no other way." In a deft movement, Senbonzakura was naked. The silvery blade caught the overhead lighting, and it shimmered. A pale pink sheen.

Hisana's eyes widened, and she forced her muscles to be still. 'Has he lost his mind?'

Silently, he crossed the room to Amaterasu, resting peacefully over Hisana's folded uniform. He gently loosened Hisana's Zanpakutō from its sheath with a flick of his wrist. The blade was only partially exposed. He then set Senbonzakura's blade against Amaterasu.

"Is everything alright?" Hisana inquired. She had no idea what Byakuya was trying to accomplish with the crossing of the swords.

"A request: Senbonzakura wishes to be by Amaterasu's side during her time of need," he stated drily.

"Are you kidding me?" Her voice expressed her disbelief loud and clear.

"Senbonzakura is attached."

Hisana chortled. "Is that so?"

Byakuya stared at her, barely able to keep his eyes peeled open. "It seems so."

"I hope Amaterasu treats him well. She can be fiery at times."

He shook his head at her pun. "Senbonzakura could stand to be tempered," he mused aloud.

This drew a gentle laugh from her lips. She raised an arm, beseechingly. "Come, Lord Kuchiki." He acquiesced, drawing to her bedside and taking her hand in his. "You haven't slept in days," Hisana said softly. She could read him like no other. "Take her with you."

He stared at Hisana. An almost imperceptible eyebrow check belied his incredulity.

She smiled weakly. "I trust you and Senbonzakura with my Zanpakutō, and Amaterasu appears to be calming."

Byakuya looked askance at the blades. Senbonzakura's metal glowed a pale pink—the color of a cherry blossom. Amaterasu, however, lay dormant. "How do you know?"

"Her sobs are softening."

He turned to her with a questioning look.

"She is very agitated. The thought of losing her strength proves torturous."

His brows lowered and pulled together.

Hisana's weary smile faded, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. "I am not well, Lord Kuchiki." Her words did not calm him; in fact, they had quite the opposite effect—they worried him further. "I will improve," she said softly, "and Amaterasu will improve as well." She bowed her head and began to cough—dry shallow breaths. The fit, however, did not last long. "Please, take my Zanpakutō with you and get some sleep."

He nodded, taking her hand in his. Obliging her request, he bowed his head politely and kissed the back of her hand. She blushed. She still blushed at his gestures, and it warmed him. He gave her a lingering look before departing.

Contented, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the dreams that lingered in the wings of her subconscious. Her dreams had become vivid and strange. She assumed that it was a byproduct of a fevered mind, but her fever had broken.

It began with memories: Memories of her childhood; memories of her sister; memories of her family arranging her marriage. The memories, however, faded into dreams that played out scenarios that she had been too terrified to imagine in earnest. What if her father had not died? What if Isshin had not rescued her and her sister? A happy ending for the former, and death awaited the latter.

After Byakuya left her room with the Zanpakutō, she had a strange vibrant dream: It began after the tragedy of her youth and after the living hell that was Inuzuri. She had been rescued. By whom? She did not know for sure, but she suspected that it was Isshin who saved them.

She cradled her sister, cherub faced and healthy, in her arms. They both were in residence at the Shiba estate. She knew that variant of the house well. Kaien had taken her there after finding her bloodied and near death in Inuzuri.

She was not bloodied or battered, then. She was not frightened. Her heart was light, and her thoughts were not filled with blackness. Rukia was well and alive—a warm cooing bundle, heavy in Hisana's thin arms.

Hisana glanced down into the babe's face, and she smiled. Happiness. Their life was not perfect, but it was close. Her eyes drifted up as she adjusted her hold on her sister. Kaien stood in the doorway. He appeared apprehensive as if he was uncertain how to address her. She knew that look. He had no idea who she was, or, at least, he had no idea how to proceed even if he had known her name. The implication was a sharp one—the two were strangers.

Hisana cocked her head to the side as she glimpsed the young Shinigami. "Hello," she said softly, blushing. Her gaze nervously fell to the baby. Feeling her muscles burn from fatigue, she brought Rukia's head to the space between her clavicle and her neck. Tenderly, she stroked her sister's back. "Shh," she murmured, hearing the beginning noises of fussing. Hisana shifted her weight slightly from one leg to another. The rocking appeared to soothe the baby, and she glanced back at Kaien.

"You are the _guests_?" he murmured. Their eyes locked briefly, but Hisana was quick to break the look.

"Yes," she said apprehensively. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, and her brows furrowed. A sense of dread sank her heart and caught her breath. She and her sister had no place to be anymore. Their home was destroyed—turned to ash. Their family was presumably gone. They were alone and dependent on the caprice of strangers.

Hisana swallowed. She hated to be dependent on _anyone_. Riches and titles had been the keys to her freedom. Suddenly, she was stripped of her independence. Even more so as she was now responsible for a helpless baby.

Kaien stared at her as if she and her sister were strange mythical creatures. He took a few strides into the room. His gaze was firmly glued to the baby. "My name is Hisana," she said softly, turning slightly so Rukia could see the young Lord too. "This is Rukia."

He shook his head. "Those are _not_ your names," he said knowingly.

A thin smile pulled at the corners of her lips. He was perceptive, or he had already been apprised of the situation. She gave him a cursory glance. "You are Lord Kaien Shiba," she murmured. Whether she was _supposed_ to _know_ his name and title remained speculative. It, however, took him by surprise.

"My apologies," he began, drawing nearer, "please excuse my rudeness," he said softly. Hisana's large doleful eyes flitted up to him. He towered over her and the baby, and she wondered why he seemed so out of sorts.

"The Shibas are among the Five Noble Families," she said softly.

He raised his head. "Yes."

She bowed slightly. "Thank you for your generosity. I have nothing to repay your…"

He lifted a hand. "No."

"Help her with the baby! Can't you tell that she is getting tired?"

Both Hisana and Kaien turned to the sound of a small female voice. A girl, a few years younger than Hisana, stood with arms folded against her chest and a disapproving glint in her eyes. She gave a slow shake of her head.

"Please, excuse my sister, Kūkaku. We are working on her _manners_." Relieving Hisana of Rukia, Kaien shot Kūkaku a sharp look.

Hisana giggled politely. Acknowledging Kūkaku with a smile, she bowed. "Good afternoon," she said softly.

"So _you're _a _princess_?" Kūkaku stepped further into the room. Nearing Hisana, she began to circle the princess. Her arms were tightly folded against her chest, and her gaze was measured but penetrating. "Seems like a normal girl to me," she snorted.

Hisana's gaze trailed to the side as she allowed Kūkaku a good look.

Kaien sighed. "Kūkaku, go."

Her gaze hardened in retaliation.

"Go," he commanded firmly. "Play with your dolls or something."

Kūkaku's eyes lit with anger. "I _do not_ play with _dolls_!" she fumed.

"Then go play with firecrackers."

"Kūkaku." This time the voice was deeper, darker. Hisana whirled around toward the familiar intonation. Isshin stood in the doorway. His gaze, worn and perceptive, settled the argument. Kūkaku protested with a long sigh, but she obeyed Isshin's unspoken order. With short lingering steps, she proceeded toward the door. She gave a small huff before crossing over the threshold.

"We need to speak," Kaien said, staring at the two princesses cautiously.

Isshin nodded. "Come," he said, flinging a door to a small conference room open. Kaien, holding Rukia, was the first to cross into the room, followed by Hisana, and then Isshin. The four sat around a small rectangular table. Hisana reclaimed Rukia before taking to a sitting mat.

"I am sorry," Hisana began softly. Nervously, her fingers curled in the fabric of Rukia's robes.

Both men stopped her with inscrutable words. "No. We will resolve this matter," Isshin said.

"Do you know anyone in Soul Society?" Kaien asked.

"No." Hisana shook her head. Remembering the young lord, however, she quickly amended her answer. "Not _really_."

Kaien was swift to catch her words and comprehend their meaning. "What does that mean?" His look and voice were diplomatic, but she could tell that he was anxious.

"There was a young lord. I don't remember his name. I think my family was arranging a marriage," her voice was quiet but jittery.

Kaien glanced over at Isshin, who stroked his chin. Isshin's gaze inclined to the ceiling as he considered the possibilities. "Likely, Byakuya Kuchiki," he said pensively.

Kaien's brows flew up. "Really?" This appeared to amuse Kaien. "How does one exactly go about arranging a marriage with a princess these days?"

Isshin shot Kaien a scathing look before turning to Hisana. "Never mind him," he said sardonically.

Hisana shook her head. Overwhelmed by dread and horror, she could barely comprehend their words. Her mind had frozen. "What should I do? I don't want to separate from my sister," her voice trembled.

Kaien grimaced. "We could keep them here."

"There would be consequences," Isshin said gravely.

Kaien rolled his eyes as he considered myriad probabilities. "Yes. There will be consequences." He exhaled a heavy breath.

"Obviously, they would wonder _where_ we _found_ a _young girl and a baby_, and _why_ we took this _specific_ girl and baby in."

"We don't do this often enough," Kaien teased, purposefully ignoring the implications.

"We have _never_ just taken in two strangers for an extended period of time. There will be many assumptions."

Hisana's gaze floated between the two men. Worry creased her brow and drew her lips into a frown. "What sorts of assumptions?" her small voice piped up.

Both Kaien and Isshin exchanged a dark look. "Not good," Kaien said tersely.

"Well, others would think the baby was yours and mine," Isshin said to Hisana, deadpan.

Hisana gave a small gasp. The color drained from her face, and she stared at him with large probing eyes. She did not know where to begin.

Kaien shook his head at Isshin. "They would not," he reassured Hisana. "But there is no telling what they would think."

Isshin feigned umbrage. "What?" he teased Kaien.

Kaien shot the man a disbelieving look. "Seriously? Clearly, they would think the child was mine."

"Why yours?"

"Incredible," Kaien sighed, throwing his head back. He then leveled a caustic look at his relative. "Because I am closer to her age."

"What does that have to do with anything? I am the head of the clan!"

"She is an adolescent. It would be creepy to think that."

"_It would be creepy_? Are you saying that I am _old_?"

As the two continued to bicker, Hisana focused her attention on Rukia, who appeared to startle at the sound of grown men squabbling over pointless things. Hisana lowered her head and began soothing Rukia. "It will be alright," she whispered, rocking the baby. "It will be alright." With a tender stroke, she caressed Rukia's chubby cheeks. "Shush," she murmured. Suddenly, she began to wonder if she was comforting Rukia or herself. She shivered at the latter possibility and drew further into her thoughts. Her prospects were dark and dismal, and, with each passing argument, she felt her and her sister's chances of survival plummet.

Realizing that their quarrel was distressing both of the princesses, Kaien shut his mouth and directed his attention to Hisana. "In other words, there will be a scandal," he muttered, catching her eye.

She blinked. After losing her family, her home, and being forced into exile, a "scandal" did not seem so bad. "Oh." She could barely focus. "What is the problem exactly?" she wondered aloud.

"We could adopt them," Isshin said.

"That would not arouse _any_ suspicions. _None_. _At all_. I am sure of it," Kaien said sarcastically. "I am glad you get paid for your superior decision making skills. Very comforting that Soul Society rests in your hands."

"Yes. I _do_ get paid for my _superior decision making skills_. I am glad you recognize that," Isshin retorted. "Well, if we adopted them we could come up with an excuse."

Kaien's brows furrowed. "What excuse would that be? We have enough heirs. No one here is married and barren."

"We could adopt them and ignore the gossip."

"We need a _reason_ to be able to adopt them."

"Any will do."

"Propose one then if it is so easy!"

Isshin sighed. "We could keep them here for the time being. If anyone says anything, we could tell them to mind their own business."

"How long before the Kuchikis figure this out?" Kaien folded his arms against his chest and shot Isshin a knowing look. "They are like sharks, that family. They sense blood."

Isshin sighed. "_That_ is a problem."

Kaien frowned. "We could just keep the princesses locked up here at the house."

"Forever?" Isshin stared at Kaien like the younger man had gone insane. "That kind of reasoning is why they pay me the big bucks," he teased, poking his chest with his thumb, "because _that_ is a recipe for disaster."

"Why does it matter if the Kuchiki family knows?" Hisana asked fighting through the sudden desolation that came over her.

"They will presumably recognize you, and they will inquire as to why you and your sister are with us," Isshin stated matter-of-factly.

Hisana's brows furrowed. The question wrote its way across her face: Why does that matter? Kaien read her look: "If you put it like that, Isshin, everything seems swell," Kaien harassed Isshin. Turning to Hisana, Kaien locked eyes with her. A grave expression darkened his features as he leaned toward her. "Princess, your family has been usurped. The soul abhors a vacuum. You and your sister will be hunted if it comes to light that you are still alive. It is imperative that we erase your identities. Any chains linking you to your past life must be broken."

She bowed her head. The words were hard to hear, but she understood them. "Yes, Lord," she murmured sullenly.

"Perhaps when things settle with your family and the rebels, we can install you or your sister to power." Isshin's voice lowered. His consolation, however, felt leaden. The words sank like weights in the air—heavy with hope but ultimately false.

Hisana nodded.

Kaien rolled his head and sighed. "Damn," he muttered as realization hit him. "If their identities are revealed, we would have more than assassination attempts to contend with."

Isshin's jaws tensed, and he shook his head. "Indeed. They are the heirs and the keys to the realm."

Kaien pinched the bridge of his nose. His color greyed, and his lips pulled into a tight line. "We should adopt them."

"_I_ will adopt them. They will be my daughters. We will present them in a year with their new names. I will say that their mother died in Rukongai. The Kuchikis may detect a similarity with Hisana, but they will not pursue it," Isshin said, glancing over at the two girls. "Although, I look _far too young_ to have an adolescent child," he said wryly.

Kaien gave Isshin a scolding glare. "Sōjun looks _far too young_ to have an adolescent heir. You on the other hand…"

Isshin chuckled. "It seems that rumors of my perversions will serve us well."

As time passed, Rukia continued to grow and develop. Hisana became withdrawn, focusing only on taking care of her sister. So shell-shocked, she saw harm in every potential blade of grass and tumble that a wobbly Rukia took. Death lurked like a lion waiting to pounce-of this Hisana was sure.

Rukia, however, was a calm quiet baby. Not prone to crying fits or temper tantrums. Rukia's only vice was that she was intensely curious. If Hisana took her eyes off her sister for a moment, she would find Rukia climbing the rafters, trees, or "exploring" the woods. Rukia was a fearless explorer.

"Rukia!" Hisana called after her sister one day. It was bright, warm, and sunny. Frantic, Hisana whirled around, scanning her surroundings. Her breath caught in her chest, and her heart hammered away. She could almost feel her pulse in her throat, and the world felt like it was spinning under her feet. She had been searching for her baby sister for nearly fifteen minutes. Fear escalated in her mind, reaching horrifying heights. A plethora of things—all bad—could have sealed her sister's fate. "Rukia!" she choked out, unable to stop the thoughts.

Rukia had taken to chasing bunnies. Hisana had made the mistake of capturing a small rabbit and domesticating it. Rukia fell in love with the floppy-eared monster. The animal was poorly tempered toward everyone but the child. Now, Rukia chased anything resembling her beloved pet, insisting that it needed "friends and family." No one wanted the devil bunny to have "friends," and they certainly did not want "baby" devil bunnies.

No response.

Hisana picked up a slow jog, mortified that her sister had fallen into a chasm. She was certain that it was a chasm today. She had seen one a hundred kilometers away from the property line, and she had worried over it ever since. Last week, she was equally certain that a strange tall man had absconded with Rukia. She later came to find out that the strange tall man had been the gardener... (And he was _not_ of a mind to kidnap Rukia.)

"Rukia!" she cried now. Her eyes burned, and her heart stammered a frantic beat. Her vision began to darken as her breathing became short and quick. Instead of collecting herself, Hisana began to bolt forward, hoping to outrun the panic attack that was crashing down on her.

"Rukia!" she screamed, turning her head just in time to miss the person in the street. The person that she ran over. Feeling the hardness of muscle and bone, Hisana tumbled down on the warm body. Swiftly, she pulled herself up and glimpsed the face of the man that she had just mowed down. A familiar face.

"Lord Kuchiki!" she yelped. Immediately, she jumped up and extended her hand to help him up. "Please, forgive me!" she said, bowing a thousand times over.

Byakuya accepted her assistance and began to brush himself off. Errant leaves stuck to his robes, and he swept them away. "Lady Shiba," he said, staring at her as if she had lost her mind, "are you looking for your sister?"

Hisana paused, mid-bow, and nodded. Straightening, she inhaled a breath and lowered her gaze to the ground. "Yes, Lord Kuchiki. Have you seen Rukia?" When she glanced up, she found him staring into her face intently. He always stared at her so strangely as if he was trying to remember where he knew her from. She knew that he found her familiar. The first time that they had met—an unplanned and awkward meeting—he had grabbed her by her face and forced her to look up at him when she resisted. That had resulted in an angry exchange between him and Kaien. But, as the years passed, he became tempered. He did not speak needlessly, and he did not expend energy—physical or mental—without a purpose. Yet, despite these facts, he continued to stare at her.

Her eyes dropped to the soil and leaves beneath her feet. Her cheeks reddened.

"I have candy," he said softly.

Hisana blinked. Byakuya Kuchiki's dislike of sweets was well known and well documented. "But you don't…"

"She does," he murmured.

Hisana's lips parted. She was ready to snap out another question, but, thinking better of it, she pressed her lips together and glanced up at him. He watched her cautiously like she was a rabid dog ready to strike at any moment. "We could use it as lure," she whispered.

He nodded.

"You will help me?" Her words came out slow, betraying her disbelief.

"Yes," he said softly. His cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink.

"Thank you, Lord Kuchiki." Hisana gave a shallow bow.

"How long has she been missing?"

Hisana shook her head. Her words jumbled in her throat, and she panned the terrain. "I… maybe… Fifteen or twenty minutes. I went to feed her bunny, and, when I turned around, she had disappeared."

He gave her a consoling look. "Come. I think I know where she has gone." Silently, Hisana followed a few paces behind him, observing him. He was beginning to shed the gangly appearance of adolescence. His face was more contoured, having lost the youthful baby fat of childhood, and his shoulders were broader. She stared at him longer than she had intended, and, when he caught her lingering gaze, her face went scarlet. He slowed when he realized that she was not by his side. Byakuya halted, waiting for her to catch up. "You don't have to follow behind me," he said quietly.

Hisana nodded. A cold breath hitched in her chest, and her muscles tensed. "Do you cross paths with my sister often?" She said the words so fast that she wondered if he had heard them at all.

Byakuya looked ahead of them as they walked. "I see your sibling frequently during my strolls."

Hisana's head jerked up, and she gave him a worried look. "Oh. I apologize if she…"

"I keep sweets for when I see her," he interrupted before she could ask for forgiveness again.

Hisana smiled dimly at him. "She must run off when I go to town."

He descried her from the corner of his eye. Silence fell over the two. It was not cold or unwanted. It was mutual. He slyly took whatever glimpse he could get of her. Hisana, however, was too busy rebuking herself to notice his looks.

Lowering her head and gaze, she frowned at her feet. She only left Rukia when she was certain that her sister was napping. A feeling of contrition washed over her, and she shook her head. She had not meant for this to happen, she kept repeating to herself. Rukia was more mischievous than she had thought.

"She likes the stream," he said softly as they rounded the bend of overgrown weeds. Sure enough, Rukia was kneeled in a flower patch near the bank. Her azure-colored yukata pooled around her feet, and she giggled as she stroked a small tame rabbit. Her small hands and fingers rebounded for another pet, but she jerked toward the feel of a familiar reiatsu.

"Lord Bya!" her small voice cried the moment that she spied him. She sprang up to her feet and ran toward him. He stopped her with an offer of candy. Excitedly, she took the colorful pieces and gobbled them without a second thought.

"Rukia!" Hisana chastised. Her large blue eyes widened as her sister greedily stuffed more pieces into her mouth.

"Thank you?" Rukia said, unsure if her lack of gratitude was the cause of her sister's stern look. Her cheeks popped out from filling her mouth with sweets.

Hisana shook her head before bending down to attend to her small sister. "Are you alright?" Hisana began to wipe the dirt from Rukia's forehead with the hem of her sleeve. "Are you sure?" she asked the moment Rukia nodded her head.

Byakuya stood a few paces away. He watched the interaction quietly. Realizing that he was still there, Hisana turned and beamed up at him. Her smile, however, faded when she caught the look in his eyes. Immediately, her color rose, and she felt her face sting. He stared at her so intensely as if she was the only thing he could see. She drew in a few shallow breaths, and she felt the world shift.

"Sister, you're red!" Rukia announced loudly between loud wet smacks as she chewed the candy.

Byakuya broke the look. His gaze fell to the ground. Hisana could tell he was nervous. His gaze roamed the ground; his face became cold and remote; and he bowed his head. "I will be releasing my Zanpakutō at the festival in anticipation of my Coming of Age Ceremony," he began. He inhaled a shaky breath, and he closed his eyes. She knew he was bracing himself. "Will you attend?"

Hisana smiled widely and tilted her head. "Yes."

He lifted his head, revealing cheeks tinted a bright pink. He held a breath—she could tell because his chest was puffed out. "Thank you," he said, bowing before turning on his heel. He took a few long strides, and, then, he froze. "Please," he said, "excuse my impertinence. Let me escort you back to the manor."

She scooped Rukia up in her arms and stood. Hisana fell into his gaze, ignoring her sister stubbornly struggling to be released. "I would like that."

It took very little convincing on Hisana's part to secure a seat at the festival. Seated in a private open air box overlooking the stage, she watched the proceedings intently. Isshin was absent, on a mission to the World of the Living. Kaien came after a late class at the Academy. Kūkaku was sprawled out in a near-sleeping state next to Rukia, who played with her stuffed animals quietly.

When Kaien arrived, he found Hisana leaned forward. Her elbows rested against the banister, and she propped her chin on laced fingers. She stared out into the ether with a look of eager amusement.

"You look excited," Kaien said, tiredly taking a seat next to Hisana.

She stirred, turning to him. "Oh, I love the festivals."

He blinked, and his forehead creased. "No, you don't," he muttered after an intense brain wracking.

Her cheeks flushed at the matter-of-fact cadence of his voice. "Oh?"

"No. I have to drag you to any of the festivals we attend. Even when we set the fireworks."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really_," he said, looking at her as if she was an impostor. "You are always worried that you will expose Rukia to some certain death."

Hisana bit her bottom lip and quirked a brow. "Oh," her voice lowered, "Rukia is getting older, now," she said as if Rukia's age protected the child from "certain death." It was a flimsy excuse, she knew.

Kaien shot her an incredulous glare. His eyes narrowed, and his brows knitted together. A disbelieving look through and through. "Ah uh," he hummed, "Who are you, and where is Hisana?"

She chuckled, and her cheeks went pink again.

"Is someone performing that you want to see?" he asked. It was apparently the only _possibility_ that flew to his mind, but she could sense that he was not quite comfortable asking the question. He seemed uneasy with his assessment. She could not blame him. She was so cloistered that she rarely saw her peers or anyone outside the Shiba family. Her small absent smile, however, betrayed her. "Who is it?" he asked, intrigued. "I will introduce you."

A chill ran through her, turning her blood to ice. "Oh, Lord Shiba," she said hastily. If she spoke the truth, she knew he would be flummoxed or incensed. Perhaps both simultaneously. And, she really did not want to be on the receiving end of his disapproval.

"Come on," he encouraged her. "I won't let it go."

Hisana knew he would not drop the subject. Kaien's persistence was infamous. "It is no one _really_."

Kaien gave a wolfish grin the moment he registered the word "really." He shook his head. "Who is it?"

Her lips parted, but she hesitated speaking the name. It would be a mistake to reveal her interest. Kaien's dislike of Byakuya was strong. In fact, she found the Shibas and Kuchikis to be rather cool toward one another generally. There was a strange apprehension in their interactions, as if neither clan knew how to take the other.

Hisana's predilection, however, was quickly exposed the moment that she jumped at the mention of Senbonzakura. Her whole body tensed, and her eyes became large and fixed on the stage. She did not hear Kaien's sigh or see him roll his eyes when realization crested over him. Nothing else seemed to enter her perception as she watched the release.

Smiling widely, she turned to Kaien at its conclusion. He stood staring into the middle distance. His arms were pressed protectively against his chest, and his eyelids drooped from boredom. "Hisana," he said in a disapproving drawl.

She tensed and retreated into herself. "Yes, Lord Shiba," she said meekly.

He shook his head. "You know that is foolish."

She glanced down. A violent blush colored her cheeks. "Yes," she said, deflated. Although, she was unsure why Kaien was so certain that her interest in the young Kuchiki lord was foolish. She had interacted with Byakuya on a number of occasions officially. It could not be helped.

Rukia broke the tension with a loud yawn. "Lord Kaien," she muttered, raising her arms up. He obliged her unspoken request, plucking her from the ground. She nuzzled against his cheek sleepily. "Sister likes Lord Bya," she mumbled in his ear.

A sharp look of disapprobation narrowed his eyes as he turned to Hisana.

"Rukia!" Hisana cried.

Rukia scrunched her face at her sister in reply. Clearly, she was still holding a grudge from earlier in the day when Hisana had refused to play dolls with her.

"Oh gods," Kūkaku piped up, "please, don't tell me that Hisana is one of those brain-dead girls that like him."

Thoroughly shamed, Hisana's head dropped, and she inhaled a deep breath. Mastering her embarrassment took some effort. "We can go," she capitulated, standing.

Under normal circumstances, Kaien would have assuaged her humiliation. However, he found her interest in Byakuya so disgraceful that he refused to encourage it in any way, shape, or form. "Come," he said softly, leading the way out of the box.

Hisana was the last one to exit. A few steps up the stands, however, she halted, hearing her name. When she turned, her face lit. "Lord Kuchiki," she said sweetly.

Struggling to reach her, he pressed through the throngs of souls, ignoring even his own family and attendants, who looked eager to speak to him about his performance. "Did you see?" The words just tumbled out of his mouth tactlessly when he reached her.

Smiling, she nodded her approval excessively. So excessively that she was sure that she had given herself whiplash by the end of it. But, she simply could not make her tongue work. It felt thick and heavy in her mouth.

He dipped his head down near hers. "Did you like it?" he whispered. There was an apprehension in both his voice and his look. His color drained, and she could almost _hear_ his heart pound as he waited for her response.

"So much," she said, hoping that her words were not too jumbled. "It was beautiful."

"Hisana," Kaien beckoned in a sharp tenor.

Reflexively, she turned toward the sound of her name. Kaien was glowering at her. She nodded in his direction, but her eyes pleaded for him to spare her for another moment. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, but her words failed her when she felt his hand on her own. He pressed something against her palm, and he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

She startled, turning a deep shade of red.

"Lord Kuchiki," an attendant called, "your honorable father has words for you. Make haste."

Byakuya acknowledged the attendant with a quick look. Bowing his head, he began toward his family, but he held her hand and then her sleeve for as long as he could. She smiled at him, holding back the strange feelings that threatened to burst forth.

"Hisana!" Kaien's strident call grabbed her attention. She turned and followed the direction of his voice.

She waited until she was in the privacy of her own room before unfolding the piece of paper that he had tucked into her hand. "A time and coordinates," she murmured. She knew the location well.

The guilt that came with sneaking out at such a late hour waned when she reached the clearing deep in the forest. For a moment, she wondered if she had been tricked. But, she saw him standing alone, staring into the night. It was beautiful. So beautiful that she froze, dumbstruck. The pale silver of moonbeams played in his silks and hair. He looked up into the firmament pensively.

Remembering herself, she took a step forward. "Lord Kuchiki," she said as quietly as possible. When he turned, she greeted him with a smile.

"You came," he said equal parts relieved and shocked. His eyes glinted in the moonlight. His gaze was sweet and steady.

"Your hair is shorter," she observed, reaching him. Her hand lifted, but she stifled the temptation to run her fingers through his freshly cropped tresses.

"The ceremony," he said referentially, clasping her hand. Their eyes locked, and he lowered his head. The space between them closed until his mouth was pressed tentatively against hers. Hisana reciprocated, timidly at first and then with greater confidence. Her fingers caught in his silks, and she could feel her heart throb in her throat.

Breaking away, Byakuya held her by the shoulders. Ever demure, she bowed her head, and her gaze fixed on the black shadows that their figures cast in the moonlight. A few tense moments swelled between them.

Nervously, Byakuya caressed her cheek. She was soft. So fantastically soft. He traced her fine jawline until his finger was under her chin. Gently, he tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes. "I feel like I've known you for years," he said softly.

She smiled somberly up at him. _He_ _had known_ _her for years_. The truth seized her heart, sparking sensations of pain throughout her entire nervous system. Electricity crackled from her fingers to her toes. "You say that to all of the girls," she teased.

He shook his head. "I don't want any other girl," he said confidently.

She sucked in a cold breath. The chill reached her chest, causing it to tense. "Good," she murmured, leveling her gaze at him. It was the most daring look that she had ever tried on.

A small half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Before he could say another word, she stretched up and returned his kiss from moments prior.

The kiss, she was certain, had sealed her fate to him.

Before long, the two were married with some ado from their families. The Kuchikis rumbled about receiving a Lady who was, allegedly, the illegitimate offspring of a well-known pervert. The Shibas' dislike of the Kuchikis ran deep and was well (and often) articulated in Kaien's many rants that led up to the marriage ceremony.

They conceived their first child, a son, in their marriage bed. As a gift, she prepared Byakuya a dish, tsukudani made with konbu. He seemed pleased.

Hisana learned that they would have a second child, a daughter, on the day that Rukia was accepted into the Academy. She had learned of her second pregnancy early in the morning, and she was elated. A quiet sort of happiness wrapped around her, protecting her from sorrow, and, to express her gratitude, she began to consider what gift she should give to her husband. Her happiness, however, was stopped cold when she received a call from both Kaien and Rukia.

Hisana had been taking tea with Byakuya during lunch. He had been spared a moment from his duties at the Sixth, and she could barely contain her good news. Hisana was sure that she would blurt it out before she had the chance to purchase a gift to express her gratitude.

Rukia's and Kaien's sudden presence, however, proved to be a welcomed distraction. Hisana and Byakuya received them into their house. By the look of Rukia, Hisana knew they came bearing bad news. Rukia stood with her head bowed and a sober expression. "Honorable sister," she said meekly as she sat seiza an arm's length from Hisana. A look of unease wrinkled her brow.

"Yes," Hisana responded. She had seen that look before, and she had heard enough "honorable sisters" to know that Rukia was about to make a confession. As a child, Rukia's confessions, while gravely felt, mostly consisted of admitting to ruining various expensive items—kimono, equipment, _doors_ and _walls_, etc. Now, as an adolescent, there were so many _worse_ crimes to which she could confess.

Hisana's heart sank.

Hisana had a feeling that Rukia had not dragged Kaien all the way to Kuchiki manor to make some trifling admission of guilt. No. Something horrible must have happened. Had Rukia killed someone or something? Had some yakuza swindled her, and, now, she needed the vast Shiba _and_ Kuchiki fortunes to erase her debt?

Rukia bowed forward like a proper lady, seeking consideration or forgiveness. "Please, forgive my intrusion," she began. Her eyes were glued to the tatami, and her voice trembled.

"Your presence is never an intrusion," Hisana said diplomatically. Byakuya shifted behind her—a wordless dissent. Hisana gave him a teasing look before turning back to her sister.

"I was granted admission into the Spiritual Arts Academy," Rukia said in a strangled breath, "and I wish to attend."

Finally. The reason why Rukia had brought Kaien was clear. Hisana lifted her gaze to the Shiba Lord, and she shook her head. Anger washed over her, setting her heart aflame. She was raving mad, but she pulled back the reins to her rage. For a moment: "Kaien," she stated tersely over Rukia's many well-thought out (at least to Rukia) reasons why attending the Academy did not entail _certain death_. "You are behind this, no doubt."

Kaien lingered by the door. He inclined his head, and he stared Hisana in the eye. She was outnumbered, and she knew it. While her husband would not interfere at that moment, she knew Byakuya would have consoling _reasonable_ words to say regarding the Academy. Rukia had brought Kaien for the sole purpose of calming Hisana into submission. Even Rukia, bowed in the most supplicant postures, was trying to appease her sister.

Starting an argument with Kaien was of no use. "Rukia, please," Hisana began, dropping her gaze to her sister. Rukia looked so pitiful, desperately wanting her sister's blessing. It was unlike Rukia, who had grown into a very intelligent but headstrong woman. "You know my feelings on the matter."

"I know you have strong feelings, Sister, but I have possess strong feelings as well." Rukia glanced up at Hisana. Her blue eyes revealed her restrained defiance. "I am not a little girl that needs protecting any longer. I am strong. Strong enough to be given entry on my own merits."

"She is. The Academy accepted her without knowing her identity or affiliations," Kaien murmured, but he closed his mouth upon receiving a pointed stare from Hisana.

"Please, Sister, will you at least meditate on this?" Rukia entreated.

Hisana snorted a small breath and closed her eyes. "Yes. I will consider your request."

Rukia immediately scooted over to Hisana and threw her arms around her. "Thank you! I will train hard while you think, and I will show you that I will be safe."

Hisana could hardly concentrate. All she did was stare daggers at Kaien, who she was certain had put those violent thoughts into Rukia's mind. When the two left, Hisana continued to face the door, staring into the distance. She knew that if she turned to her husband, he would appeal to her just sense of rationality. He, however, did not know that she possessed no such rational thoughts at the moment.

"Lady Hisana," Byakuya said at length.

It took two more calls before she acknowledged him with a dark look. "I know what you will say," she said sharply.

"Escort me to the Sixth," he said.

Hisana obliged, and the two moved to the Sixth at a slow amble. A slow _silent_ amble. She fumed in her head, and her reiatsu flared, settling any notions that she was at all reasonable.

"I worry about you endlessly," she muttered as if she was responding to some unspoken assertion.

Byakuya glanced down at her knowingly.

"I worry endlessly _because_ of what your duties entail. My heart is so full of worry every time you walk out of the manor and into a mission that I am sure it will burst. I don't think it could handle worrying about two of you. It would surely break."

A small smile thinned his lips. "Admission into the Academy does not ensure placement into one of the Thirteen Squads."

Hisana looked up at him. "But it will for _her_."

"Remember when you agreed to marry me? Rukia cried and pleaded for weeks, thinking that you would no longer be her sister."

Hisana frowned, sensing where he was going. "It is her life," she sighed. The reason that her powerful emotions had quashed returned. "She must make her own choices," she sounded leaden and remote. "But, what if I know better?" Hearing the words aloud made her instantly regret speaking them.

Byakuya chuckled. "That is arrogant."

Her cheeks reddened. It _was_ arrogant of her. "Is there anything that can be done to make it _safer_?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Later that night, Hisana gave Byakuya her gift, a book of poetry, over dinner. Reading her intent, he looked across the table. "You are with child?" She responded with a warm smile and a nod. He seemed pleased.

Hisana selected a set of art brushes to give Byakuya when she announced that she was carrying their third child, a son. He seemed pleased.

When Hisana learned that she was pregnant with their fourth child, Rukia had burst into the room shortly after the physician had gone. Excitedly, she beamed at her sister. A paper was clenched in between her fingers, and she shook it. "I will be a Shinigami!" she cried, joyfully.

Hisana blanched. "Oh."

"Yes. I received an offer from the Thirteenth!"

"Oh." Hisana looked traumatized.

"I will be a seated officer." Rukia's happiness deflated at her sister's lack of interest.

"Oh," Hisana murmured, staring into the courtyard.

"Yes," Rukia grumbled. "What is wrong?" she asked, taking a seat in front of her sister.

Hisana shook her head. She felt weak and unwell. "I am pregnant," she mumbled to herself in disbelief.

"That sounds like _good _news," Rukia said, puzzled.

"The physician seemed worried."

"What makes you say that?"

"He recommended termination."

Rukia gaped. "What?"

"Perhaps he is just superstitious," Hisana muttered to herself, waving the thought away. The doctor's words had revealed more than the thoughts of a superstitious man. He had been deathly serious, and Hisana could not get the prescription out of her head.

She did not purchase a gift for her husband then. In fact, she waited many months before revealing her state. She waited until she could no longer hide her swollen belly. She grew wane. Her extremities became thin. Her hair lost its luster, and her eyes were no longer bright and full of life.

She was dying.

Carrying a bento box, she braced the sudden snow storm on her way to the Sixth. She was determined to tell her husband of her condition. When she was permitted entry into his office, he rebuked her for wandering out in the middle of a storm.

Hisana ignored his words, placing the packed lunch and a plant on his desk.

Byakuya ignored both items. "You look ill," he observed. Indeed, Hisana was as pale as the new fallen snow. Dark circles framed her eyes, and her body shivered at the slightest breeze. "I will summon the doctor when the storm lessens."

"I am pregnant." Her voice was low and emotionless.

He glanced down at the plant stationed in front of him. She had plopped it on his desk so summarily that he had not realized it was a gift. He scrutinized the flora for a few long moments. "I do not know what to make of this," he said staring at it.

"It is a plant," she said.

"Yes." He gave her an even look. He had not gone stupid. "But, the other gifts symbolized something. The konbu symbolized our desire to have many happy healthy children. The poetry and art set symbolized your wish that our children pursue safer paths than that of a Shinigami. This plant," he paused staring at the ugly potted plant as if it had sprouted a ferocious man-eating face, "this plant will surely die if it remains in my office."

His dry humor reached her, breaching her remote look and warming her heart. Her stoic façade crumbled, and a small smile played on her lips. "I hope that our next child is grounded and has earth in her soul."

"I see." His brows rose at her explanation. "You have been with child for a while," he said perceptively.

She glanced down. "You noticed?"

He tilted his head to the side. She understood his look, and, no, she had not lost her mind. "I _noticed_," he said in a calm deadpan.

A giggle escaped her. "I am sorry, Lord Byakuya. The physician had indicated that this pregnancy could be troublesome. I did not want to get your hopes up."

"The physician recommended termination," Byakuya said drily. Hisana's shock was apparent, and he continued, "Rukia was concerned when she saw you a week ago. She told me."

Hisana's brows furrowed. The thought of her sister, who regarded Byakuya with such admiration, speaking to him about _her_ health burned her heart. "I will be survive this," she said softly.

Byakuya closed his eyes somberly. "You must," he said. He had not meant it to be a threat, but there was an unspoken implication.

Her condition only worsened over the course of the winter. The doctors and nurses had put her on permanent bed rest. Effectively quarantined, she remained in her room. Yet, despite her condition, her children refused to listen to the many admonishments that their mother needed her rest. The orders were heeded only a few hours each day, and, seemingly, her children, being either of short patience or memory, would come barging in. Her bedside became the stage of many plays, accusations of injustice, and pleas. She had settled many arguments—imaginary and otherwise—and Hisana would have it no other way. She had come to abhor prolonged silence, which was a good thing since her children seemed to as well.

On the first day of spring, their daughter, the middle child at only six years of age, climbed into bed with her mother. Hisana snuggled with the child, holding her tightly against her. The daughter possessed a poet's soul, Rukia always teased, and she was her father's favorite child. (Byakuya denied having favorites, but both Rukia and Hisana had decided that Byakuya was not an unbiased observer.)

Cuddled tightly against her mother, the little girl began to cry. Hisana had not noticed until she felt a dampness in her night robes. "What is the matter?" she asked.

"Father is sad. Elder brother is sad. Aunt Rukia and Uncle Kaien are sad."

"So you decided to be sad, too?" The logic of children never ceased to amuse her.

The chubby cheeked girl gave a long solemn nod of her head.

Hisana smiled. "Why are you sad?"

"Because they are sad because you look like a snow owl."

"I look like a snow owl?" Hisana had not heard that one before.

"Uh um," the little girl hummed, "and snow owls become Yuki-onna."

Hisana's brows furrowed. Clearly, she needed to educate her daughter on _both_ snow owls and Yuki-onna. "Oh, no!" she said, putting on her most affected look of surprise. "Not a Yuki-onna!"

"Just like Aunt Rukia's Zanpakutō!"

"If I looked like Aunt Rukia's Zanpakutō, your father might think it an improvement," Hisana said wryly.

The little girl, however, failed to understand her mother's humor. Instead, her already large eyes widened, and her mouth formed a small "O" shape. "No! Father would be even sadder!" She was clearly exasperated.

"Daiyu," Byakuya called. His voice entered the room before he did.

The little girl rolled out of the bed and barreled toward her father. Upon reaching him, she jumped into his arms. He held her for a moment, and, whispering something in her ear, he placed her gently on the floor. Daiyu giggled, bowed deeply, and ran out of the room. Shutting the door behind him, Byakuya then crossed the tatami and kneeled at his wife's side. "Your sister is here to train the boys," he said softly.

Hisana moved to sit up, but he stopped her with a gaze. "I look like a snow owl?"

Byakuya glanced down, training his features into a neutral look. "That may or may not have been said in reference to your complexion."

She grinned at him. "That sounds like something you would say," she said knowingly. She had no doubt that he had made the analogy. Her daughter parroted everything Byakuya said.

His gaze flitted up to her face. "I may or may not have said those words."

Smiling, she reached out and squeezed his hand.

He met her gaze, and a few sweet moments passed until he seemingly realized that she was ill. He frowned. "You need to rest."

"I need to move around," she protested. "My bones ache from being laid up in bed so long." She knew he was skeptical of her. "Please, let me take my meal in a common room."

It only took another protest for him to yield, sending a handmaiden into the room to help her dress. When Hisana emerged, she moved slowly. Her frame had shrunken—the pregnancy had rendered her body brittle and boney. The child within consumed her spiritual power, leaving her only a shell of a body.

Placing her hand on her swollen belly, Hisana took a seat at the table, and she watched Rukia train her boy children. The eldest was nearing adolescence, and he must have made a stray comment because Rukia took exception: "I _will_ pummel that snotty look right off your face!" she said, snapping the bamboo threateningly. He huffed a breath and shook his head defiantly.

The eldest child was most like Byakuya. As heir apparent, he exuded hubris, and he was hot-headed. Hisana smiled as Rukia led him into a maneuver only to best him soundly. Rukia could be a little hot-headed, too, Hisana mused.

The youngest, at only four years old, stood holding a miniature wooden sword. He tried to mimic his elder brother, but he was clumsy. His patience, however, made up for his lack of coordination. He was a resolute little guy.

Daiyu shuffled into the room and took a seat next to her mother. Slowly, she sipped from her teacup. Staring up at Hisana, she mirrored her mother's posture, and she would only drink from her cup when Hisana drank. Hisana noticed her little shadow, and she smiled. Daiyu did not like to play solider with her brothers. She preferred to be curled up with her mother, begging Hisana to read her stories.

Rukia continued to train with the eldest for an hour. Both Hisana and Daiyu watched silently. A private show of sorts.

"You're up!" Rukia cried, crossing the threshold to the room. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion.

Hisana took another sip of the strong tea. She gave her sister a languid look. "I could not stand another moment in the bed," she said over the wisps of steam rising from the cup.

Rukia dropped into seiza near her sister. "I don't know how you eat this food," she said staring at the spread on the table. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Hisana shot her sister a knowing look. "Lord Byakuya insists that I eat _nutritionally balanced_ food."

"Sure," Rukia said, "but _this_? There _has_ to be better food than _this_…"

Hisana chortled. "It keeps me thin."

Rukia's countenance darkened. "Too thin," she said, giving her sister an onceover. She shook her head. "If you," her lips immediately snapped closed when she spied Daiyu seated next to Hisana.

Hisana caught Rukia's look and turned to Daiyu's nurse, who immediately encouraged Daiyu to play a game away from her mother.

Sure that they were safe from prying young ears, Rukia leaned close to her sister. "If you die your family will suffer immensely."

Hisana cocked her head to the side. "Thank you, Sister," she said flatly.

"No. Byakuya will break his sons. He is so demanding with the eldest, and he is too critical of the youngest. And, then there is Daiyu." Rukia shook her head as she considered the female child. "He will spoil her rotten. Absolutely rotten. She will turn into one of those _awful _court ladies. And, he will refuse to care for the child that killed his _beloved wife_."

"Rukia!" Hisana cried.

Rukia shrank only slightly before continuing, "Take care of yourself, Sister. Please. Whatever that entails."

Hisana, however, was stubborn.

She carried the child to term. Nothing would deter her once she had made the decision. But, the child was too strong, and it drew the very essence from her.

She died in Spring.

She was always dying in her dreams: She died caught in a fire when she dreamed that Isshin had not saved her and her sister. She died in childbirth when her father had not been overthrown.

Feeling the life drain from her in the dream provoked Hisana's sleeping mind to rouse. Startled, she snapped up into a seated position. Heavy breaths and heartbeats proved to be effective chains to reality. She examined her hospital room with wild eyes before collapsing back onto the mattress. She clenched her chest and closed her eyes. Quietly, she wished her heart to still, and she inhaled and exhaled deep soothing breaths.

'Why does it always end tragically?' she wondered.

While she considered her dreams with Byakuya far superior to dying in the palace, her end was no different. In fact, if possible, her death while married to Byakuya proved more painful. She had loved him desperately, and she loved her life with him, their children, and her sister. It was exquisitely beautiful, which made her death exquisitely painful. She _wanted_ to live. She wanted to experience each and every moment to the fullest. With baited breath, she wanted to see what happened next. Then, there was the pain in Byakuya's face when he saw her fade. He was devastated, and his devastation wounded her deeply.

Her heart seized with great sadness. 'Who would look after him?' she worried, turning her head to the stark white hospital wall.

Tears spilled from her eyes as the question lingered in her mind unanswered.


	24. En Garde

**Chapter 23: En Garde**

The water was tepid and blue. It lapped over smooth flat stones, leaving dark marks on the surface as it receded with each beat. The river babbled in her ears, and the noise soothed her.

Hisana shrugged out of her yukata and stepped into the water. Her whole body ached. The doctor had told her that she would ache for many months. He had told her many other things. Things that, for the time being, she chose to ignore.

After the staff discharged her from the Fourth, she escaped into the deep forests of the First Rukon District. She was good at escaping—at disappearing—and the wandering river of the First called her. She knew the area well, having licked previous wounds in the shaded tranquility there before. The water was clean, warm, and it contained healing properties for both mind and body.

Wading into the water until it was waist-deep, she dipped down and paddled toward the middle of the lazy river. The tide was gentle, and she trusted its direction, letting it pull her a while. She closed her eyes and repressed her reiatsu. Bright white patches of sun cut through the dense foliage, illuminating her pale skin. The autumn day was aberrantly warm, and Hisana was sure this would be the last in a long while that she would be able to swim.

Weightless and suspended, she hoped the water would unchain her heart from the weight that pulled her down so persistently. A moment of respite—free from any burden—was all she desired for a few hours. Her mind, however, was not cooperating. She could not free her thoughts from the heavy shackles of duty, obligation, and a painful inescapable reality.

It was suffocating.

She wondered if one could actually drown in their own thoughts. Her breath caught, and her throat tightened. Even her heart slowed its beat, frozen. Her eyes flew open, and her gaze met a colorful sky. It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning its descent. It was a vibrant display—all reds and warm colors. The sky looked like it was on fire.

A beautiful flame.

She inhaled a deep breath, and, turning her head, she glimpsed her outstretched arm. The white fabric of her under-kimono swirled against the current, beating back and forth. The fabric's movement fluttered at the tempo of her own heartbeat.

The trees shed their leaves. Many of the colorful leaves drifted beside her. She watched them gracefully float along the surface. Anything to distract her tortured thoughts.

She had to tell Byakuya her secret.

He could not marry her without knowing about her sister. He could not marry her without knowing that she would labor to the end of her days to find the soul that she had sent adrift in the cold harsh world. It would be cruel otherwise. It would be unfair to him.

She had to tell Byakuya about Rukia.

Hisana breathed a deep breath. Her chest expanded. Painfully. The flesh at her back pulled. The stitches tugged her skin, stubbornly holding her together. The electric pain shooting up and down her spine, however, went largely unnoticed. She had become numb to it. Physical pain was strange that way—she could habituate.

She had to divulge another secret—a fresh secret—that the physicians at the infirmary had unearthed. Her heart sank. Perhaps, she could save that secret for later. It was too new. It still stung her heart, poking a small hole in it. He didn't _really_ need to know anyway.

Depression sank her. Melancholy replaced her blood, imbuing her very essence. The physicians said it was normal to feel sad. She had endured so much in such a short period of time. She had gone through the proverbial wringer. They said it all so matter-of-factly. A small laugh. A gentle smile. A knowing look.

She had been dismissed. They had dismissed her. They had dismissed her pain and her sadness. It was _typical_ they said.

She wondered if the physicians had ever experienced her variety of pain. They seemed to know it existed. They spoke about it with confidence. But, did they even _know_?

She doubted it.

How could they? They were members of the Fourth after all. Most of them hailed from well off families. They had never wanted for or _needed for_ anything in their entire lives. Many of them had never felt the heat of battle or felt the sting of loss.

She sank in the water. She had not realized it at first. It began slowly. She held her breath on the way down, and, when she could no longer handle it, she resurfaced. The soft tender skin of her feet brushed against the cold smooth rocks of the river's bottom. She stood. The water lapped against her chin and mouth.

'It is getting late.' And the air was getting cold. She swam back. Back to her clothes. Back to the bank. Her strokes were slow and graceful. She felt fluid and proficient. It had been a long time.

Reaching the bank, she wrung out her hair and shed her wet undergarments. She moved at a glacial pace. Without the help of the water, her limbs felt heavy and unwieldy. She felt lumbering, slow, and imperfect.

Absently, she shrugged on her yukata, and she squeezed the water out of her white undergarment. Satisfied with the level of saturation of the fabric, she slipped on her socks and zōri and began toward her division. It all felt so automatic and so mechanical.

Upon crossing into Seireitei, her eyes were half-lidded, and her body cried for rest. If she thought she could have gotten away it, she would have curled up in a tree and called it a night. Momentarily, she wondered if anyone had noticed her absence. She hoped not. She wanted to avoid any questions.

Trapped in her own thoughts and feeling desolate, she threaded through the market. If anyone had recognized her or wished to speak, she had not noticed. She barely remembered her journey to the Thirteenth. Avoiding the guards, she spent what little energy that she could muster on a well-executed flashstep.

Feeling suddenly hot and depleted, she stripped out of her clothes, fell into her bed, and crawled under the covers. Sleep, however, did not come. Hours passed, and she remained awake. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was restless.

She was not finished torturing herself.

The knock at the door proved inviting. Reflexively, she threw back the covers. Her room was pitch black. Night had fallen. She fumbled for a few minutes in the shade for a kimono. Tying her sash, she peeled back the door.

The unseated officer looked absolutely _flabbergasted_. "Miss Hisana?" he asked as if she was an apparition.

"Yes," she said wearily.

He shook his head as if he was trying to cast away the shock. "Oh, my apologies. I truly did not think you were here."

"But I _am_," she said drily, urging him with a dark look to get to the point of his intrusion.

"Yes. Yes," he stammered, frantic. He went pallid. "How _long_ have you been here?"

Hisana narrowed her eyes. "A while."

He grimaced. "Oh no."

"Please, what is the meaning of this?" She was growing impatient.

"Lord Kuchiki inquires after you among _others_."

The unseated officer had misjudged, she noted wryly to herself. His indolent speech and fraying nerves indicated that he had not performed the most obvious duty—check her quarters before giving his superiors an answer. Likely, he was drafting a response for when the others questioned his poor judgment.

"Is Lord Kuchiki at the gate?"

"Yes. He is at the gate."

Hisana nodded her head. "Did you offer him entry?"

If possible, the boy turned a deeper shade of white.

"There is no need," Byakuya called from behind the errant Shinigami. Byakuya did not appear amused. At all.

Hisana drew her door further back. It was an unspoken invitation, and Byakuya accepted without a word. "He is new," she said flatly, securing the door behind them. She spared the unseated officer no looks of sympathy or consolation, and neither did Byakuya.

"You were discharged at 1600 hours."

Hisana stared at Byakuya impassively. "I was." Was he angling for a fight? He wore his trademark impassive expression, but his voice carried a combative air. It stung her from across the room.

She was in no mood to mold her words into bladed remarks.

"Where have you been?" Before she could answer, his fingers curled around a lock of hair. "Your hair is damp," he observed. Through the shade of the room, she could not tell if this discovery upset him. His voice made no indication in its tenor, but the fact that he said anything put her on edge.

Sometimes she hated that he was so perceptive. "I went for a swim." Her voice was dull, and she hoped that it would divert the tension wafting over her.

It did not.

Byakuya stared at her blankly. If it was a joke, he was not amused. He continued to stare at her with a quiet intensity that he usually reserved only for his subordinates. He did not have to repeat the question for it was carved into his visage.

"No, really," she said, leaning over a table to turn on a lamp. The bulb was slow to warm up, and the light it threw was a dim orange. Thick shadows bent up from the floor to the walls. Every movement was suddenly visually echoed and amplified.

"Are you well?" He bristled at the sound of his own voice in his ears.

She knew he was nervous, and she wondered what thoughts were pulling at the strings of his mind. She could feel it in his reiatsu. Usually so calm and steady, it was now crashing over her from across the room at varying intervals. She could almost _breathe_ in the sensation.

Fighting against the urge to melt into the feeling, she wondered if he had meant to inquire about her physical or mental state. The way he framed the question, it sounded more like the latter. She did not speak a word. She just stared up at him. Moments or hours passed. She was not sure which before the silence broke. It was sudden, and it was swift. His hand enveloped her wrist, and he pulled her forward with a sharp tug. Like a ragdoll, she followed the motion.

His mouth was fast against hers.

A warm sensation pooled in her. It started in her chest before cascading down each limb until her body felt like it was on fire. She shut her eyes. Her body was eager—too eager—to submit. Her resolve tumbled like a wall against a tsunami.

Byakuya pinned her against a wall. The wood post pressed against her back, leaving imprints in her skin. She felt the sensation briefly as she braced hard against the structure when he lifted her up by the waist. Her legs, thin yet wiry, wrapped around him. Situated, she gazed up through heavy eyelashes. Their inky silhouettes painted the walls. Every movement played in front of her, and she smiled. It was beautiful like Byakuya's calligraphy.

Feeling him fumble with her robes, she shifted her weight slightly, and she glanced down. His hands were frantically on her. Usually so graceful and poised, his mask slipped for her. His touch was apprehensive. She detected a slight tremble in his hold. 'Is he afraid?' she wondered, gazing into his face.

With a tender caress, she eased his head up, and she stared into his eyes. Fear was in his gaze, swimming in the depths of his grey irises. Her heart stopped dead, and she bent forward. Both of her hands were against the sides of his face, and she gave him a somber look. Byakuya Kuchiki did not _fear_ things. She was sure of it. He did not fear superiors, opponents, or even death.

What was this look lodged in his eyes, then?

Perhaps love and fear were not so different.

"Why?" she asked at length. Her brows pulled together, and her lips sloped down.

He closed his eyes, and he inhaled a deep breath. Gently, he released his grip, guiding her back down to the floor. Once her balance was stable, he opened his eyes, and he met her gaze. "Forgive me. You are unwell."

Hisana shook her head. "You are afraid."

Pain darkened his features and clouded his eyes. She wondered what had provoked this sudden change in him. Had she done something? She glanced down to find that the sleeve of her robe was wet and dripping. The smell was unmistakable, a mixture of metal. Blood.

Blood pooled on the hard wood. A few seconds later, pain shot up her back, and her flesh heated. "A stitch," she winced, feeling against her side.

Without a second thought, Byakuya grabbed her up and took her to the infirmary. It did not take long to patch the suture up. The damage between Hisana and Byakuya, however, would take a little longer to mend.

"You need to stay still. No swimming," the nurse cautioned Hisana. "You'll get an infection on top of popping your stitches."

Hisana breathed a sigh. Instinctually, her gaze flitted over to Byakuya, who stood quietly near the door. His head bowed down, and his eyes were hooded. Words were not necessary to air his disapproval.

"Yes, nurse," Hisana stated distantly, reaching for her kimono.

"Since it is almost the next day, let me set you up with your daily treatment," the nurse said softly before departing.

Byakuya glanced over at her. "Daily treatment?" he echoed.

Hisana's head fell. "Yes, Lord Kuchiki." She was not well, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever find health again.

He raised his head, shaking the remote look off his face. Concern creased his brow and gleamed in his eyes. "How long?"

Listless, her eyes roamed the floor, but she lifted her head up enough so that he could read her features. "I don't know." It was the truth. The Fourth was woefully short on specifics at times. The division ran on the presumption that They Knew Better. There was no negotiation when it came to health. Hisana was beginning to think Byakuya was of a similar mind.

"I will make arrangements for you to stay at the manor during your convalescence."

Her brows shot up. "Lord Kuchiki," she said in a low pleading voice. A sharp glare should have silenced her on the matter. Hisana was sure that his eyes had settled many an argument before, but, for whatever reason, they had no effect on her. "Lord Kuchiki, I cannot impose."

"It is pragmatic."

"Perhaps, but," her voice trailed as did her gaze, "I need to tell you something." A confession drew up from her stomach and hitched in her throat. It felt like she was going to vomit. "I have not been completely honest with you, Lord Kuchiki. If you wish to rescind your prior commitment to me, I will understand."

He was upset. His face did not reveal his inner state, but the sudden spike in his reiatsu betrayed him. The energy spilled out of him and into the room where it pierced her. Shrinking deeper into the warmth of her robes, Hisana's fingers dug into her chest as she clenched the scratchy fabric of her yukata.

"I have a sister," she murmured. With the next breath, her head lowered, and her eyes, large and sullen, fixed on the tile floors.

"I know. I have not forgotten."

She gave a small nod of her head. "I abandoned my sister shortly after arriving in Inuzuri. I could not muster the strength to provide for both of us." Every muscle fiber flexed in rigid tension when she heard the words. It felt so surreal. Her mind could hardly focus, and she was shaking. A sob stuck in her throat. "I could not provide for myself. I was weak."

She had his complete attention. While she would not lift her gaze from the floor, she knew this fact. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her. Her nerves crackled under her skin, and her cheeks, once bloodless, flushed. "She survives in the South 78th, but I do not know for how long." The words spewed gracelessly out of her mouth; she could hardly stand the sound of her own voice. She could hardly understand the words that spewed forth.

Tear drops fell against her lap, making damp circles in her robes. She stared at the perfect little circles for a few moments. A stubborn refusal to let him see her cry burned her heart so deep that she kept her head down, hoping that a few more moments would settle her.

"That is why you go into the Rukon Districts without a mission," he said softly. She gave an imperceptible nod of her head. But, Byakuya did not need a formal response to continue. "That is a relief."

Immediately, her eyes, watery and somber, flicked up. His reaction puzzled her, and her confusion was written loud and clear on her face. Her gaze begged the question before her lips.

"I thought you had taken a lover there."

A cold sharp breath ripped through her lungs. She could not believe it. He was taking her confession rather lightly. In fact, it did not faze him in the slightest. Byakuya appeared to be waiting for worse news, and, when it did not come, he took a few steps toward her.

"My heart remains steady as does my offer," he said, taking her hand in his.

She sank into herself.

"Has your heart changed?" he asked. Suddenly, the distance between them felt both physical and emotional. Her heart ached, and she closed her eyes. Byakuya was not a man prone to vulnerability. Perhaps that was the fear she detected in his eyes only moments prior in the solitude of her quarters?

"No," she said after a few moments. "I choose you."

"You will continue to search for your sister?" he asked with some resignation.

She nodded.

"Then you will need your strength."

A small weak smile thinned her pale cracked lips. "Yes."

"Stay with me at the manor."

She exhaled a small sigh. He was always willing to exploit a weakness to make a point on and off the field of battle. She was rather amused at how well he had managed the last maneuver.

When she did not respond, he lowered his head slightly. He was always bowing toward her, she mused. She wondered if he noticed that. She doubted that he lowered himself for many others or _any_ others. "It is an order," he murmured against her head.

A small grin played across her mouth. "Is it?" She glanced up at him. She had meant the look to be a fleeting one, but her eyes locked with his. He regarded her so genuinely that she could hardly take his "order" seriously. "It would be improper."

"Propriety is beneath me."

Her grin widened, and she covered her mouth with a sleeved hand. "Lord Byakuya," she said warningly. She knew that was not so, and she shot him a playful glance.

He raised his head at his name. Over the past few weeks, her "Lord Byakuyas" had morphed into the more distant-sounding "Lord Kuchiki." It had stung him at first, but he had never stated a preference either way. "What did you call me?" he asked softly.

Hisana's eyes were large, and her cheeks streaked pink. "Forgive me," she gasped softly, "I did not mean to regard you so informally."

"I prefer it."

His words overlapped hers, but she comprehended them after she had finished with her apology. They struck her; the implication proved to be stirring. Her lips quivered as she inhaled a tremulous breath. At first, she had referred to him in the familiar to antagonize him; although, it never seemed to work. When she realized that she had feelings for him, she continued out of force of habit, but she trained herself to be obedient.

"Oh," was the only coherent sound that she could muster.

"Lord Kuchiki," the nurse's voice reached the room before she did. Drawing back the privacy curtain, she wheeled in an ominous-looking cart, "you will have to leave for the moment."

He obliged, holding Hisana's hand and then the sleeve of her kimono for as long as he could. Her cheeks reddened as she remembered her dream. He had done something similar then, and the memory caught her breath, drawing it out of her.

The treatment involved transfusions and some physical therapy. She felt her color and energy drain from her during the process, and, when she was released, she found Byakuya waiting patiently for her. He startled upon seeing her. It was a subtle, easy to miss, response. But, she knew from the unease breath to his hard swallow that she looked as bad as she felt.

She managed to walk out of the Fourth, but, once the two exited the division and hit the streets, she stumbled forward. Her muscles were tired; her sinews alternated between burning and feeling numb.

'Another step,' she said to herself with each breath. Her eyes remained trained ahead of her. So singularly focused on moving forward, nothing else reached her. The dark chill of night did not bite her. The stars lighting the firmament were of no interest. Byakuya's intermittent looks of concern could not pierce the veil of her thoughts.

It was of no use. Like a black curtain, darkness fell over her troubled mind. Her limbs went still as if invisible fingers had cut the cords that once moved them. She collapsed.

The ground would have claimed her if it had not been for her companion. Reflexively, Byakuya extended an arm and caught her. She was so light. Bones, once hidden by health, protruded forth; it felt like he was cradling a bundle of sticks. She was skeletal, and the pallor of her face elicited a churning in his stomach.

It was _much worse_ than he feared.

. . . .

Hisana awoke the next day to the pleasant sound of birdsong. An orange light poured in from a nearby window, rousing her from the heavy sleep that had lulled her brain to cease its worry. Sitting up, she peeled open her tired eyes. The world reached her in an unfocused blur. The contour of objects bled together, swimming in her vision.

She was not at the Fourth.

'Oh right,' she thought to herself, deflated. 'I agreed to this.' Briefly, she wondered if she had actually given her consent or if he had merely taken it.

Her eyes roamed the capacious room, straining with every movement. Each blink cleared her vision only slightly. Each breath calmed her only a touch more.

Heavy headed and hearted, she rocked to her knees, and, feeling secure, she stepped forward. Straightening in her posture, however, proved quite taxing. Her limbs felt leaden and her equilibrium pulled to the left. Glancing down, her legs, boney and pale, caught her, turning in at odd angles. She looked like a baby deer that was learning to take its first few steps.

"The Lord has ordered you to rest," Sheh murmured, closing the door behind him as he entered.

Hisana's head jolted up. With her attention diverted, her body broke from under her. Her knees hit the soft comforters of the futon. "Sheh!" she chastised.

The servant gave her a sly look and shook his head. "You aren't well. Rest," he said, placing the serving platter on the vanity pushed to the side of the room. He plucked a cup of tea from the tray, and he handed it to her gently. "Sir Kuchiki bestowed an honor upon me today," he began conversationally as he bent down to examine her.

Hisana accepted the warm cup. Thin streams of steam rose, skidding across her face. With a soft breath, she blew against the liquid. "Oh," she said into her cup. Her eyes flicked up at him over the brim.

"Yes, I will serve the Lady of the House," he said softly.

She blanched. "Oh, Sheh, I am so sorry," her voice dropped a few octaves and notches in volume, and her chest clenched. It felt like someone had just died, and, perhaps, that feeling was not too far off; his career surely was in the throes of death.

He gave her a nonplussed glance. "Do not be. It is an honor to serve the Lady of this noble family. Lord Kuchiki would not have made the assignment lightly. In fact, I am flattered."

She went a pale shade of pink as the implication hit her across the face. No, Byakuya would not have made the assignment lightly. "I am glad," she said gently against the cup. She took a small sip. The scorching liquid burned her lips and tongue, proving to be an effective elixir, waking her dulled senses. "I am glad that it is you, Sheh," she said with more resolution. A happy smile brightened her face, and the feeling lit her eyes.

"As am I." He bowed politely. "Does the lady desire food?"

Hisana eagerly nodded her head. "I am starving." It had been the first time in _weeks_ that her stomach growled in hunger. In fact, the feeling proved so consuming and so sudden that she bowed forward in pain, wrapping her arms around her tense belly. Pleading eyes sent the servant toward the door.

"Your strength is returning," he said knowingly. He shot her a kind glance before disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.

Indeed. Her spiritual power was returning, and with it came an insatiable appetite. Ever perceptive, Sheh prepared a varied and plentiful meal—a meal that Hisana would have quickly scarfed down had her stubborn adherence to etiquette not bound her greedy fingers and mouth.

Sheh remained with her while she slaked her hunger. Summoning him closer with a wave of her hand, he sat seiza a few lengths from her. "Yes," he said.

Swallowing, Hisana tilted her head to the side as she watched him. Words caught in her throat, and the look in her eyes indicated that she something important to convey. Her lips, however, remained silent for a moment. Mental editing. She had become quite good at revising her words while under the Second's purview. "Whose confidence is overriding?" she asked hesitantly.

Sheh's brows furrowed as he considered the implications of such a question. "Yours. I would never betray the Lady of the House's confidence while serving her."

"I am not the Lady, yet."

His gaze flicked up to the ceiling as he pondered her words. A long deep breath filled his lungs, and he responded in a low thoughtful tenor, "For my purposes, yes, you are."

"If I told you something that I never wanted to get to Lord Byakuya until I found the right moment to tell him, would you keep that secret?"

Worry-lines creased the servant's face. He seemed nervous for her sake. "Of course. Is there something wrong?" He asked the question with quick clipped words.

Hisana inhaled a small breath and parted her lips. The tip of her tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth, and the rumble of words, warm and tingling, began to creep up her throat. Yet, she stayed the rattle. Her lips pressed closed, and she exhaled, casting her gaze down to the floor.

She looked defeated. "Not today."

Sheh cocked his head to the side as he examined her. She could feel his gaze, warm and skeptical, burn through her thin robes, heating the skin underneath. His question lingered between them, unspoken.

"Another day," she said, glancing up at him. Her breath caught as she spoke the words. It was untrue. She would wait until the end of the world before divulging the information gleaned from the Fourth. The pain was still too fresh; the wound cut too deep. Time would cure her, she was sure. At least, she _hoped_ that time would mend the gash in her heart.

"Perhaps tomorrow?" Sheh offered kindly.

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Perhaps tomorrow," she murmured.

"More food?"

Hisana's smile lengthened, but she shook her head. "No, Sheh. No more."

"Are you certain? The Lord has requested that you eat as much as necessary to regain your strength."

"I am certain."

"You look awfully reedy these days." Making his point clear, Sheh wrapped his hand around her wrist. Pulling her arm up enough so that her sleeve fell back, he examined her. Her forearm was nothing but bone with a thin cover of flesh.

She pulled her hand away from his grasp, and she tucked it in her lap. "It will take time, but I will be restored." She managed a cheerful tenor, but her eyes, large and roaming the floor, betrayed her concern.

Sheh managed a half-hearted smile. "I will serve you more tea."

Hisana nodded her approval, but, the moment that he left her to her own devices, she quickly made her futon and escaped. It was easy enough, and part of her suspected Sheh had anticipated the outcome.

Her first destination was Inuzuri. It had been a long time. The oppressive summer heat had blanketed the marketplace when she last visited. But, the hot sticky weather relented, and a crisp autumn breeze lingered in its place. The breeze caught in her robes, cutting through the layers of silk. She was woefully underdressed for the weather. Pushing her discomfort to the back of her mind, Hisana quietly melted into the crowd of souls in the marketplace. Spotting the food cart, she sauntered toward Cao. A bright smile stretched her lips and smoothed her face. "Squirrel special?"

He chuckled. "It has been so long. I hate to admit it, but I missed your face."

"You missed my money," she teased softly.

"That too."

Hisana shook her head wryly. "So?"

He nodded his head. "I saw your doppelganger a week ago. Healthy and full of piss and vinegar."

Hisana's face lit up at his recollection. "Was her red-headed friend with her?"

"He was," the man said, beginning to serve her a container of okayu. "She has quite a number of little friends."

Receiving the container eagerly, Hisana glanced down. She frowned into the cup, and she wrinkled her nose. "Okayu?" She paid nonetheless.

"You look ill," he said. "Are you near death? I've never seen someone so pale before."

Her eyelids drooped at the observation. "I am alive." The last thing she needed was her purveyor of food and intel _mothering_ her. She had her fill of people _mothering_ her.

"Must've fucked up during one of those hoity-toity missions."

"Real bad," she chuckled. "Spectacularly."

"So what about this royal wedding that is happenin'? I hear some of the Shinigami mention it. Has some of the ladies around here in a real row."

Hisana frowned and shrugged. "Really?" It was the best feign that she could devise.

A half-grin pulled a side of his lips, and he gave a long shake of his head. "Alright. I see how it is. You aren't _one of those girls_."

She gave him a smile and a lift of her brow. "I suppose not." _If only he knew_. No one in Rukongai knew, in fact. And, Hisana was keen to keep it that way. There was no telling what might happen if she revealed her affiliation to a noble family. All it would take was for someone to see the opportunity.

"Your sister was hanging around the river the last I heard of her," Cao began conversationally. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the wooden lip of the cart and propping himself up on his forearms. A wolfish grin split his lips, and he gave Hisana a knowing brow wag.

"Getting into trouble no doubt?" She hummed the words in a long breath. Unthinkingly, she felt pulled toward Cao, closing the space between her and the counter. Privacy made her feel safer both for her and for her sister's sake.

"As per usual. She had twenty of the vendors up in arms. A right thief that one is." He shook his head, smiling. "You should've seen it."

Hisana could almost read the memory on his face. It was loud and clear. Smiling to herself, Hisana bowed. "Thank you, Cao." And, she meant it. Even if her search proved fruitless, Cao had given her some peace of mind. Rukia was alive.

Hisana spent the majority of her day searching the market and the river. Hours passed. No luck.

Deflated and running on empty, Hisana began toward Seireitei. Her shoulders slumped forward, and a dark feeling of depression sank her. Her stomach tensed and every muscle and bone rang out in aching pain.

In a haze, she had wound her way to the marketplace. Eyes stung with exhaustion, and her heart felt like it had sunk to the pit of her stomach. She felt like she was losing ground.

She was always a moment too late.

Time slipped through her fingers. No matter how hard she clenched her hand, the moments would continue to escape her clutches like a fine sand. She was losing ground.

Thoughtless, tactless, and graceless, she threw back the door. "What happened to me?"

Her eyes were dead, half-lidded, and dark. For a moment, Kaien wondered if she was somnambulating. He had heard tales of sleepwalking, zombies, and apparitions. He wondered which fate had befallen Hisana.

"I have a file." Calm words and deft fingers tried to soothe her as he set the file on his desk, but his face betrayed his shock. She looked shrunken and fragile. He was sure a severe look could break her in half.

Hisana plopped down in front of his desk. Her body could not hold seiza for long, and her legs fell to the side. "Just tell me," she said without acknowledging the stuffed folder.

Kaien's lips sloped into a frown. "I don't know exactly." He didn't know. He had been apprised of the "situation" shortly before her ordeal at the Fourth. The information was fuzzy and ambiguous.

The information was bad.

A troubled breath reverberated down her throat. "Oh."

"It says that you located a high value target while incarcerated. The information gleaned was useful in preventing a second attack. But, something _happened_. The Fifth apparently has no intelligence on what, exactly. You were unconscious for _hours_ before you were taken to the Fourth."

"What?" Her brows furrowed, and she cocked her head to the side. Why would a division keep a wounded Shinigami without seeking proper medical attention? They would not. That would not make rational sense.

"The Fourth placed it in the medical notes. The Fifth did not address it in their report. Someone is wrong, and, I imagine that the Fifth has a lot more to gain by strategic omissions."

"You mean _lying_."

Kaien's expression soured. "Yes. Lying." The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. His lips sloped into a frown, and his face puckered slightly.

Hisana did not miss the strange look on her superior's face. She knew that it must have been hard for him. Kaien was noble-minded, and noble-minded men were prone to wish for others to be similarly noble-minded.

Most of the souls in Seireitei were _not noble-minded_—especially among the Shinigami. It never ceased to amuse Hisana, but everyone had a secret, ranging from sordid to incriminatory. _But, everyone had one_. She wondered whose secret needed protecting the day she became collateral damage. She hoped it was a _damn good_ secret.

Hisana's fingers walked over to the folder. Deftly, she flipped the cover over and fingered through the pages. The words elicited violent mental images—flashbacks. She quickly turned her head as emotional pain crashed over her, beating down her restraints. A sob climbed up the back of her throat. She felt violated. Horribly, viscerally, violated. The feeling was as ineffable as it was intense.

She choked down the feeling. It was ugly, and she could not expose herself. She was no longer a young child. She could handle it. She just needed a distraction.

"Is something the matter?"

Pressing her lips together, she jerked her head up. "There was a second attack?" she managed. Her breath was thin and sharp in her throat, instantly parching her mouth.

"We intercepted the rebels."

"Near the Third Rukon District?"

Kaien nodded—a slow thoughtful nod. "Yes. You remember?" His concern bled through his trained features. He could be so readable at times.

"Vaguely. There was another attack too."

His expression dropped into a look of shock. "What?"

"Three attacks in three weeks' time. What happened?"

Kaien shook his head. "Nothing. When we culled the last attack, they were either neutralized or rethought that plan."

"Unlikely that they were neutralized. A different group was in charge of arranging each attack." Her eyes, once fixed on the papers in the file, leveled a gaze at him. Her lips, pale and cracked, parted.

"No, Hisana," he said, reading her gaze. "You are off the mission."

"Vice Captain!" she said. Her mouth readied a number of reasons of why he should not take her off the case. Like bullets, she aimed her words at him and fired.

"_Off the mission_," he said above the cacophony of her explanations. "No. Simply no."

"They think I was almost killed for their cause. I have _credibility_."

"You are about to marry a high noble. You have no credibility!" he growled. "You are not staying onboard. In fact, you are officially off-board." With a snap of his wrist, he cracked a sheet of paper. He watched her for a few long moments.

Her gaze did not relent. Not even for a beat did she glance down at the sheet of paper laid before her. She held her convictions fast and hard.

Realizing that she was insistent, he shook his head. "You have an appointment with the Fourth's Mental Services Unit."

Hisana's brows furrowed. "What?" A sensation of betrayal crashed over her as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. The fibers of her muscles flexed, and her nerves began to tingle, sparking under her skin.

"Protocol. You almost died." His voice was low and grave. The stare he shot her evidenced the gravity of his intentions.

"I've almost died several times. I've never been sent to the Mental-Whatever-You-Just-Said." With each word, her voice raised slightly, keeping pace with her growing emotions. She felt like she was running out of air and Kaien's good will.

"Yeah. I've decided to start following protocol now." He extended his hand, proffering the notification.

Hisana refused it. Stubbornly, she jerked her head to the side, trained her gaze on a nearby wall, and inhaled a deep breath. With chest puffed out, she folded her arms against her chest in defiance.

"Take it," he said warningly.

Slowly, his gaze, hot and steady, melted her resolve. It began with a flicker of her eyes. Her gaze darted to him before lingering on his face for a moment. Her posture, once rigid and closed, eased. Her shoulders sloped, and her arms dropped from her chest. Frowning, she snatched the document from his hand. "Vice Captain, I am fine. Put me back on the case. Please."

"What are you doing? What are you trying to avoid?" He paused. "_Who _are you trying to avoid?" He had suspicions. Or, rather, he had a name on the tip of his tongue, but his better judgment prevented him from speaking it.

Her features hardened: Lips drew into a tight line, and her eyes narrowed into slits. "Vice Captain, please."

"No. You are on a medical hold, anyway. Two weeks leave of absence. Hands are tied."

Standing, she waved the piece of paper in front of her face out of frustration. Realizing that shaking her fist was getting her nowhere fast, she stared at the ground for a few heartbeats, clearing her head. "Please," she said softly. If she could not argue her way back into the fray, perhaps she could plead her case. Kaien, however, sat immune to her gestures, shaking his head.

She breathed a heavy defeated sigh, and she began toward the door. Before crossing the threshold of the office, she paused.

"Go see the physician listed on the paper. It will help."

She gave him a piercing look, and she left.

A chill remained in her wake as did a heavy silence. Kaien knew he did the Right Thing, but he felt unsettled. It was hard not to give into her desires. But, he knew she was running away—running toward a certain death with that mission.

. . . .

"You do not follow orders well," Byakuya chastised over the quiet babble of the stream flowing under the bridge.

Hisana closed her eyes, letting the low sound of his voice wash over her. A small smile curved the corners of her mouth, and, happy-hearted, she turned to him. She knew he would come. For a moment, she wondered if he had come to the bridge before the manor. A look at him, however, answered her question completely. Dressed in pale blue silks, he had changed out of his uniform.

"Insubordination is a high crime," she teased.

"It is."

She gave him a sweet sidelong glance. "How was the Sixth today?"

"As well as can be imagined, considering it is being managed by a fool."

She chuckled.

"How is the _Thirteenth_?" There was a sharp edge to his voice. If it had been a blade, it would have slit her deeply. He knew of her predilections, and he was displeased. For a fleeting moment, Hisana wondered if he had discerned her whereabouts through logic alone or if he had been informed.

She proceeded assuming the former. "Well. You will be pleased to know that my Vice Captain stonewalls me at every turn."

"Your Vice Captain is _not_ a _complete_ fool."

"Just _mostly_?" she joked, easily reading the subtext in his comment. Byakuya gave her an amused look, and, if she looked hard enough, she could see the telltale signs of a smile. Wordlessly, she took to his side, and they began to walk down the footpath. She had a feeling that he was leading her somewhere, but she did not question his intentions. A cord of trust bound her to him.

"You went to Inuzuri." It was an observation, not an inquiry.

"I did."

"You should be careful. There have been insurrections."

Hisana nodded absently to herself. "They do not suspect me of anything. Very few souls know of my affiliation to either your House or the Gotei 13."

"And the ones that know of your affiliations?"

"There is little to gain by divulging such information."

His eyes trailed to her. It was quick, but she understood his look well: He was skeptical. There was _always_ something to gain if you were clever enough.

"No one knows of my affiliation to your House."

He lifted his head and looked askance at her. "No one?"

"No one," she echoed.

"That is wise," his voice was cold, betraying a calculation that she had only recently computed herself. It was prudent; she knew it in her heart. She would become a high value target in Inuzuri if her association became known. She was unwell and relatively defenseless then. It would be unwise indeed.

"I have papers for you to sign when you feel ready." His voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Oh?" She wondered what that meant or entailed.

"The marriage license. It must be cleared through the Ministry of Civil Affairs."

She nodded. "Of course." Briefly, she wondered if their marriage could be settled with paperwork alone. It would certainly save her time and grief.

Seemingly reading her thoughts, he continued, "There will be a formal ceremony."

Hisana grinned at his astuteness, and she held his gaze. "Of course."

"This spring," he said, stone-faced.

"Is your family aware of this?"

"To a degree."

She chortled. "What does that mean?"

"They are aware of the ceremony's arrangements."

"But not the paperwork?" 'Which usually is completed on the day of the ceremony,' she thought sardonically to herself.

He cocked a brow, and a half-grin lengthened a side of his mouth.

"We will be married before the ceremony?"

"If you sign the papers before the ceremony." Pausing, he scrutinized her expression, and, realizing that she found his answer unsatisfactory, he added, "We will be married legally then."

"Is there any other kind of marriage?" she teased, playfully.

That elicited an earnest grin from Byakuya. He gave a slight, but endearing, shake of his head. "I think there is," he said softly. The starlight flashed in his eyes, and she flushed at the gentleness of the light's reflection. The implication of his words hit her on a delay, and she smiled. Byakuya Kuchiki, a romantic? She would have never guessed.

Hisana offered him a sweet smile in reply. Her mind, however, worked to guess at why he wanted her to sign the documents so soon. She contemplated the possibility that his family, ever devious, would try to hinder them. Perhaps this was a preemptory strike of sorts? He was clever about these matters—much wiser to the machinations of nobility than she was.

A comfortable silence slipped between the two as they continued toward the manor. Once inside of the sprawling estate, Hisana nervously drew closer to his side. "Where are we going?" she whispered.

"You should rest."

Her eyes widened. "Don't I have paperwork or something to look over?"

"It is in my room," he said quietly.

She followed him to his quarters, and, for a moment, she contemplated whether her intrusion perturbed him. He did not outwardly ask her to give him a few moments of peace; however, she wondered if he would have? _Doubtful_.

Drawing back the door, he allowed her entry first. A cursory glance told her all she needed to know. The space was huge (like most of the rooms in the manor), tidy, and sparsely decorated. She preferred all of these things. It was clean, organized, and it made a tranquil sort of sense.

Byakuya soundlessly crossed the tatami to his small writing desk. Graceful and decisive, he opened his desk and withdrew the packet. Handing her the paperwork, Hisana glanced up at him. "You look tired." Her observation was soft but tinged with worry.

Indeed, he appeared rather exhausted and drawn. His complexion, usually sun-kissed and radiant, was pallid. Dark circles lined his eyes, and his gaze was listless. She had not noticed it before—she had seen him under the shade of nightfall or through drug-induced bleary eyes. But, he was not well.

Reaching up and brushing a stubborn strand of hair from his eyes, she tilted her head. "Let me take care of you tonight," she said in a soft breathy voice. Part of her tingled with horror that he might reject her kindness out of pocket. (He did with an equally worried glance.) But, she insisted over his silent protest. "Come. Let me offer you some respite."

Before he could speak a word to the contrary, she had placed the packet of papers down, and her fingers slid under the collar of his haori. Feather-light touches peeled back the many layers of finery.

He tensed as she stripped him of his armor. Modesty was not an adjective that she often associated with Byakuya Kuchiki. Quietly, she stole a glance. He was a handsome man. Rarely did he afford her the opportunity to admire his sculpted physique. The thin silk of his under-kimono left little to the imagination. With eager eyes, she observed his impressive form—all fine-tuned musculature. His shoulders were broad; his arms defined; and his back was lean. Many long brutal years of rigorous training cut his flesh. A small knowing smile pulled at the side of her mouth as she slipped the under-robe off his shoulders. Reflexively, slabs of muscle shifted against the chill of the dark autumn air.

'_Incredible.'_

Reaching for the clothes folded on a nearby desk, she dressed him in his at-home robes with great tenderness and care. "Sit," she said softly, leading him to the small vanity tucked in a corner of the room. He obliged her request. Once he settled, her fingers brushed against the chill of an ebony comb. The smooth cool texture of the wood felt delightful against her palm. With gentle swift movements, she pulled the comb through his hair. She was careful, paying close attention to any tension, to ensure that she did not snag his hair.

After several long strokes, he caught her wrist. His fingers wrapped around the tender flesh. She was so diminutive and delicate. Her wrist felt as if it was barely there it was so small. He lowered his head, but his gaze rose sheepishly.

"Lord Byakuya," she murmured, smiling chastely. She said his name so low that he had to struggle to hear it.

Hisana leaned down. Her cheek was mere centimeters from his. He could almost feel her warmth radiate against him. It was distracting. She was distracting, and his mind was tired and vulnerable. The diversion, however, quickly morphed into a warm sinking feeling. The feeling bubbled in his chest and coursed through his enervated muscles.

When she tilted her head toward his, pressing her head to his, he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Her sweet fragrance wafted over him, calming his ragged nerves. It had been a long while, but his mind finally found a beautiful respite. "Stay with me tonight," he said after a few long heartbeats.

"Of course." She replied so matter-of-factly that he wondered if it had been her intention from the beginning. Gingerly, she took his hand in hers. The servants had already laid out his bed, likely anticipating a late arrival of their Lord.

Leading him to the futon, she bent down and pulled back the sheets. He slipped under the covers first, and, with a gentle tug, she obliged the unspoken request. He took her in his arms. Protected and warm against each other, the two fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading! I really had a hard time with this chapter as it is a transitioning chapter. Hopefully, the ByakuyaxHisana moments make up for the lack of actual action.

Again, thanks to those who review! It means so much!


	25. Bad Blood

**Chapter 24: Bad Blood**

Winter came silent and quick like a dagger through the rich fabric of autumn. Gone were the vibrant colors and foliage and crisp weather. Snow fell both quiet and graceful, covering the ground in a patina of white. What little flora survived stood gray and skeletal, devoid of all fruit and life.

It was a gray morning, and Hisana stared longingly out of the window adorned in the shades of winter: Varying hues of white and black painted her outermost robe. The painting depicted grayscale peacock feathers.

Feeling unusually gloomy, she wrapped her arms around her chest. Despite being tucked into many layers of fine silk, a chill crept up her spine, sending her nerves a tingle. Rubbing her hands over the soft slick silk, Hisana tucked her chin to her neck and examined the design. The painted silk echoed her own heart: Peacock feathers bled of their color. She felt similarly. What little vibrancy existed within her had also bled dry. The winter and the Family had frayed her last neuron and smothered the fire that once lit her soul.

Whether she wanted to or not, she had to admit that the kimono was lovely. It was priceless. It was delicate. However, it was _not_ her. She wore it to make the House happy.

The House was _never_ happy.

Ever.

Each day she received well-wishers, both Kuchiki family members and high-ranking nobles. Barbed words and hooded eyes betrayed them at every step. Hisana knew the protocol. She also knew that they knew the protocol. Every subtle slip—every deviation from the standard—felt like a slap across her face. (For they meant her to interpret it as such.) At first, she felt like she was going crazy. She saw malcontent in every gesture. A veiled threat lay behind expensive silks and painted veneers. Every look conveyed contempt. Their words dripped with equal parts formality and hatred. A deep, burning disapproval straightened their backs and emanated with each heavy step they took in her direction.

When a family member could not give his or her regards (or condolences as Hisana preferred to call it) in person, he or she sent gifts and cards. The less creative family members sent the gifts with the numbers four or nine. The more hostile relatives drafted haiku. The words, parchment, and ink were painstakingly chosen to cut her, and cut her they did.

She disposed of the evidence before Byakuya could discover his family's treachery. He already knew of their disdain. Initially, he had ordered Sheh to intercept any parcels, food, or letters so that he could personally inspect them. Duty, however, called Byakuya away on an extended assignment. Byakuya's absence forced Sheh's hand on the matter. Hisana learned of Byakuya's approval process through the distraught Sheh shortly after a Kuchiki elder struck him for his dilatory delivery of a gift.

Knowing that Byakuya had to intervene pained her. Knowing that this intervention brought harm to Sheh cut her to the quick. After Sheh's confession, she absolved him of his duty to Byakuya. Despite this absolution, Hisana suspected that Sheh had devised some process of delivery whereby she only received _some_ of the _gifts_.

"The winter keeps the family at bay," Sheh murmured; his voice tore through the heavy silence of the room. The tinkling sound of tea being set pulled her attention to the side. She gave her servant a lingering sidelong glance.

Sheh was ever obedient. It almost appeared that he _enjoyed_ serving her. She could never convince herself of that fact. Knowing that he did not abhor her, however, did ease her mind somewhat.

"I signed the papers." The words bubbled up from her throat and spilled out of her mouth. Her chest felt lighter then as did her heart. It had taken several months of pacing around the floor like some wolf closing on a felled prey. She had wanted to finalize it since Byakuya handed the documents over, but something had stayed her.

Byakuya never inquired after the papers.

She wondered if he knew that she would turn the decision over and over and _over_ in her mind. She wondered if he knew that she would sign the papers in the end. Likely, he did. He knew, and his confidence was the reason he never asked about them.

Sheh's head popped up. "Oh?"

Hisana's expression flattened. She was expecting a more ebullient response. _Oh_, felt so anti-climactic. Did he not know how long and _hard_ she had worked to devise neurosis over what was clearly a done deal?

She snorted a small breath.

"I thought you had signed those papers months ago."

Her brows furrowed, and she pressed her lips together. "I had not." _I had not tortured myself enough over the prospect of happiness…_ _But, now that the family has taken over the job of torturing me with such unfettered zeal, I decided to move on it._

"Did the family finally convince you to sign?"

Hisana inclined her head and shot him a probing stare. _What did that mean?_ She had difficulty reading the subtext that she was certain hid beneath the surface of his question.

"You _do _know why Lord Kuchiki made the request so far in advance?"

The question lingered between them, needling Hisana. She had her suspicions, but she did not know for sure. Since Sheh seemed to _know_, she was not going to answer. At worst, her servant would only confirm her fears.

Understanding her look well, he elaborated: "He is concerned that his family will ruin the wedding arrangements. He, however, is adamant that despite their greatest efforts that you will be his wife." A small sly smile curved a corner of his mouth up. "Milord is as stubborn as he is ardent about the marriage."

Hisana lowered her head and gave a grave smile. It was as she had thought. He was worried that his family would endeavor to tear them apart. After living in Kuchiki manor for a month without Byakuya's protection, she was acutely aware of his family's capacity for cruelty. She had no doubt that they were working overtime to develop and implement some plan to ensure their heir married well. And, marrying well entailed _not_ marrying her.

"I will ensure that the papers reach the Ministry of Civil Affairs. You are husband and wife, and nothing the family can do will stop that." Sheh piped up. Concern wrinkled his brow and forehead as he observed her sadness.

Hisana shook her head. "There is no need. I will deliver them myself."

Sheh's nose crinkled, and he tucked his chin down. "Milady," he murmured disapprovingly, "You should not submit to such a trifling task, and I do not want to risk your health."

Hisana's gaze dropped to the floor. Reflexively, her jaws tensed. The Fourth had given her a clean bill of health a month prior. In fact, she had resumed her duties at the Thirteenth weeks ago. Yet everyone treated her as if she was some frail piece of porcelain. She was not frail. At least, she felt hardy and tied to the earth beneath her feet. Her heart strummed a strong beat in her chest. Her blood coursed with vigor and warmth through her veins. Her heart was steady, and her color returned. She felt restored completely.

No one believed her.

Even her old friend, Kaien, regarded her as if she would shatter at any second. His words and voice were softer, gentler than before. His looks were fleeting and fluttery. The assignments were mere child's play, consisting mostly of paperwork and trainings.

It was frustrating.

"How is the Thirteenth?" Sheh asked as if he was reading her thoughts.

Briefly, Hisana wondered if she was so transparent or if Sheh had a knack for asking just the right question at just the right time. He was incredibly intuitive and knowledgeable. But, his ability to read her unnerved her at times.

"Well." Her word fell flat and unconvincing, sinking in the air the moment it left her lips.

"Has your return been a warm one?"

"Naturally," she murmured to herself. The Thirteenth stood in stark contrast to the Kuchiki estate. Warmth radiated from the division and its members. She found peace there.

Kuchiki manor, however, was cold. Bitterness lingered behind each door, stare, and breath. She was not the Lady the Family desired, nor was she the Lady they felt they deserved. She was an obstacle to be conquered.

Hisana, however, was not one to be easily crossed. She was at her wits end with kindness and acquiescence. She was not obsequious by nature. It was a trained habit—one that had been beaten into her from years of dire circumstances. She could only bite her tongue for so long, she kept reminding herself.

"Is all well, Milady? You seem preoccupied," Sheh observed, handing her a cup of steaming hot tea.

Hisana's eyes flickered up at him. Words filled her heart, swelled in her chest, and climbed up her throat. She wanted to express so many things to him at once. Most of all, she wanted to speak words of gratitude for his patience and kindness. The tingle of her vocal cords, however, ceased the instant she saw the flutter of black wings in her periphery. Instinctively, she lifted her arm and opened her hand. The hell butterfly landed with a graceful beat of its wing.

She immediately shed her look of consternation. A wide smile lengthened her mouth and split her lips. "Lord Kuchiki." His name on her tongue elicited a blush in her cheeks. She missed him deeply. The extent of her feelings was quick to crash over her at the prospect of his return.

"It is snowing heavily, Milady," Sheh warned. His gaze, worried and piercing, was leveled at the large snowdrift a few feet from a nearby window. The mound was a recent thing. Sheh may have managed two words before she was shrugging on a heavy jacket and stepping into her geta. Moments later, she was out the door.

He stood holding her teacup.

. . . .

"Captain Aizen," Byakuya said softly, addressing his superior with as much reverence as he could possibly manage, which was not much. Lifting his head, he met the Captain's gaze. The question was silent yet written across Byakuya's face: 'What is the purpose of this meeting?' Byakuya had spent nearly a month on assignment in the World of the Living. He was weary, listless, and desperate to see his lover. But, there he stood—not in his home or even at the Sixth. He stood with chest out and feet squared under hips at the Fifth.

Aizen smiled kindly. "Please, sit, Lord Kuchiki."

Byakuya obliged with a tired look and a frown.

"I have not had a chance to give my congratulations on your upcoming nuptials."

"There is no need," Byakuya murmured.

"Of course there is. This is a momentous occasion. Centuries have passed since there was a Lady of your noble household." Without an offer, Aizen poured a cup of sake and passed it to Byakuya, who accepted with some hesitance.

"Thank you, Captain," he said flatly.

"This spring, no doubt?"

"Yes."

"Spring is so fortuitous. Let us drink to spring's fecundity," Aizen said taking a quaff of the sake. Byakuya stared into his cup before acquiescing. He took a small sip. "Tell me, what plans do you have for the future Lady?"

Byakuya's brows knitted together. _What did that mean?_ He questioned to himself.

Aizen, however, was quick to see and acknowledge Byakuya's look of confusion. "I assumed the Kuchiki family would not abide a Lady who served the Gotei 13."

"I have not given it much thought," Byakuya said drily. It was a lie. Byakuya Kuchiki _had_ mulled the issue over time and again in his head. Mostly, he considered how he would even broach the subject of asking her to take a leave of absence from the Gotei 13. It was inevitable, however. His family would not allow their Lady to serve in the military. They were _not_ the Shihōin clan. As a married woman, Hisana would be expected to bear heirs. They would not want to risk her health.

_Although_…

Byakuya brushed the mordant thoughts from his head. His family's intentions had been less than pure lately.

Aizen observed the young Kuchiki lord with a cool glance. When Byakuya caught the sudden change in the captain, he lifted his head. It seemed so strange. A flicker and the Captain resumed his patented look of tranquility. "I was hoping to enlist your fiancée's talents before she took her leave, but…"

Byakuya stood. "She will likely take her leave some time in the spring." Taking a step forward, he felt his muscles in his legs ache. His stride felt stiff and leaden, but he was quick to cover his gait. "I will give Hisana your compliments," he said, drawing the door open.

Wordlessly, he passed Gin Ichimaru on his way out of the captain's office. He could feel Ichimaru's gaze on him. Shrugging his shoulders, he cast aside the pinpricks that fluttered under his skin.

Gin's smile lengthened as he crossed the threshold to Aizen's office.

"The synthesis was successful," Aizen murmured.

Gin flung the door closed behind him in response.

"There is nothing left but to test it."

Gin nodded his head. "I wonder if our Orpheus will follow Eurydice into the Underworld?"

Lifting his head, Aizen's lenses reflected the overhead lighting. The glint obscured his eyes as he stared in Gin's direction. "Yes, I too wonder how problematic this connection is for our plans." He exhaled a small breath. "No, matter," he muttered, "I know the perfect candidate to assume the role of the viper."

Gin lifted his head. His smile, wide and toothy, lingered on his lips as he eyed his superior with a gleeful gaze.

. . . .

The snow came down in blankets. All Byakuya could see was white at times as he slowed his cadence. Flash-stepping in the icy conditions was inadvisable to borderline treacherous.

The trek home was going to be long.

Long and painful.

"Lord Kuchiki!" The voice cut the cold thick air, and he turned. His stomach clenched as he hoped it was not an illusion.

It was not an illusion.

Before he had the chance to turn to the sound of his name, he found himself pinned against a snowdrift. Her face above his, smiling.

He had not been expecting_ that response. _"Hisana," he managed. A small grin drew his lips up.

"I signed the papers," she said, breathless, "and they are safe at the Ministry." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and she sank against him.

Byakuya placed a hand against her back, and he inhaled a breath of relief. She appeared to be in sound spirits and health. It had been so long, he reminded himself. He almost felt warmed by content despite the piercing chill of snow at his back, soaking through his garments and biting his flesh. "Come," he said at length.

"Forgive me," she chuckled, taking to her feet. She took his hand and helped him up. "It felt so long," she said softly as she dusted the snow off his haori.

"I brought you a gift," he said fishing into a pocket. "It is very appropriate considering the weather."

"Lord Kuchiki," she murmured. Her voice dropped a few octaves. _He should not have_, was the underlying implication.

Withdrawing a small wrapped parcel, he handed her the gift. "You should open it," he said after a few moments of reticence on her part.

Hisana gave him a fleeting sidelong look before dropping her gaze to the package. "Of course." Her thin nimble fingers bent back the corners of the wrapping. A few moments later, she exposed the gift under the brown paper and white box—a lovely (and warm) pair of gloves. "You shouldn't have," she said, cocking her head to the side and smiling gently.

"Put them on," he said, turning his gaze away.

"Does the Lord blush?" she teased him sweetly.

"It is cold. Put them on," he repeated, dropping his eyes to the snow covered ground.

She chuckled softly, but she obliged. "They are so nice," she said, admiring her hands, "thank you, Lord Kuchiki."

He gave her a sheepish glance.

"I have a gift for you, too," Hisana said in a canorous tone.

Byakuya's brows lifted slightly at her announcement. He did not speak the word, but his expression indicated some surprise. _Oh?_

"Like my gloves, it should warm you." A coy bend in her brow revealed her intentions.

"Where is this gift?" he asked in a well-trained deadpan.

"At the manor of course," she teased.

"What is it?"

"You'll see." She took his hand in hers and led him to the estate.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who reads, and I really appreciate all of the reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you! So sorry of the lack of updates. I have been extraordinarily busy with work. I hope to begin updating more regularly again.


	26. Flaws

**Chapter 25: Flaws**

It was _red_.

Hisana lifted her arm, allowing the sleeve of the furisode to draw back. The pale flesh of her arm proved to be a stark contrast to the brightly colored silk. _So incredibly red—vermilion. _ If possible, the fine silk seemed _more vibrant _against her pale skin. It was lovely, however. There was no use in thinking otherwise.

It just _was_.

The base color was scarlet. Skillfully painted pink and white flowers swirled across the arms, chest, legs, and hems. A whimsical pink and yellow design flowed over the red silk like a current of windswept flora.

Hisana frowned.

It was a _gift_, and one that carried high expectations. The Kuchiki family selected her to perform a celebration dance at the upcoming New Year's festival. Her heart fell as she fussed distractedly with the orange obi. Anything to take her mind off the red color or the cherry and plum blossoms adorning the silk or the fact that the kimono was a _furisode_…

She was unsure of what she found most upsetting—the color, the painting, or the length of the garment's sleeves. She examined each variable in her mind, beginning with the alarming intensity of the red color: It was brazen, demanding of attention or note. It also symbolized a passionate but ephemeral love as the safflower's color easily fades. What was the family trying to tell her? They noticed her, but, ultimately, she and their heir's relationship was destined for failure? Their passion would diminish like the safflower's brilliant color? If true, what then? Would he regret his decision of turning his back on family tradition for something that was only fleeting?

The cherry and plum blossoms also symbolized the transience of life. Was it a threat? Were they insinuating that her life at their estate was to be short-lived? Or, was the threat more sinister—that her life, in general, was going to be short? She was unsure of how vicious they were trying to be. Given the context—bright red color, cherry blossoms—she wondered if it was merely just another stab that she was without, and she would remain without indefinitely

Then, there was the style of the kimono. A furisode was appropriate only for young _single_ women.

Nervously, she bit her lip.

_Did they know?_ She mulled over the question. There was no way they _knew_ of her marital status. _Of course they could discover such a thing!_ _The papers are public record…_

A cold panic swept through her at the observation. It was such an obvious self-evident sort of thing. Why had she not realized the risk beforehand? Surely, her husband, wise and experienced with such public records, knew.

_An idiot could find the papers!_ The more mordant part of her noted pointedly.

Yet, no one had discovered their plot…

_Why?_

Trapped in a tangle of thoughts, Hisana's eyes narrowed as she focused into the distance. Nervously, she bit her bottom lip as she considered the many and varied reasons _why_ no one had exposed them. Soul Society's most eligible bachelor betrothed? The headline practically wrote itself. And, Hisana did not think for one second that honor, etiquette, privacy, or any trifling ideal would have stood in the way of gossip mongering or moving newsprint.

"You look lovely."

Hisana turned to find her faithful servant lingering near the door. Her eyes, cold and languid, betrayed her pensiveness. For a moment, she appeared somewhat dumbfounded, lost in a labyrinth of worry. It did not take long for her to emerge from the spell.

Casting aside the thoughts and possibilities that assailed her with a few blinks, her eyes caught the light overhead, and she managed a small smile. Hisana beckoned to Sheh with a small wave of her hand. "Please, don't tease me," she murmured.

"No. Red really suits you."

She smiled dimly at the complement. "I tried it on. Now, can I take it off and practice the dance?"

"You don't want to practice with it on?" Sheh inquired as he set tea on a nearby table. The chattering of cups against wood and metal partially eclipsed his words. Hisana, however, understood his meaning well enough.

Her frown stifled an agitated sigh.

"A master kimono maker took one year to create such a fine garment. It is only seen in public for one day. You should get some use of it now," he continued.

Her cheeks flushed. She would have to dance in an expensive _and_ incredibly attention-getting kimono. Her whole body heated at the prospect of dancing with all eyes on her. "It is so heavy," she murmured lifting her arm.

"It is a lot of silk."

"It is _a_ _lot_," she said, catching his gaze and stopping short. Words left unspoken knotted in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, attempting to wet her parched mouth and to drown out her meaning. The disapproval gleaming in her eyes, however, belied her true feelings. She was up to the family's games, and she looked to Sheh to confirm that she had not lost her mind.

"Think of it as a peace offering. They would not have selected you if they did not think you would do an admirable job."

"I can think of _other_ reasons for selecting me for this dance," she said mordantly.

"You are a skilled dancer," he noted evenly.

Hisana threw her head to the side and pursed her lips. "Do they know that?" She doubted it. Catching herself mid-scoff, she rolled her eyes and wheeled around to find her husband standing in the doorway.

Her heart sprung up in her chest, and her lungs violently purged the breath trapped within. Wide-eyed and gasping, her eyes fluttered open and closed. Quietly, she prayed with each bat of an eye that her vision would clear, revealing the image of her husband to be an apparition. She prayed that he was _not standing there _and that he had_ not heard her ungrateful words._

"_I_ know you are a skilled dancer," Byakuya murmured, lifting his head. With a passing glance, he indicated that he had overheard _everything_.

When the initial pinpricks of shock subsided, Hisana sucked down a cold breath. The air expanded in her chest, piercing her tender lungs and sending an electric bolt surging through her nervous system. Her entire body felt like it was humming—an electric sort of hum. Her neurons crackled and sparked under her skin like freshly cut fuses.

"So it was _you _who chose me to dance?" she teased, masking her embarrassment with a coquettish glance and playful lilt.

Byakuya lowered his head, and an almost imperceptible smile lengthened his lips. "No," he said gazing down at her, "I did not inflict this on you."

Hisana's unease melted under his careful gaze, and she smiled. "Well, then, I do not want to disappoint whoever it was that selected me for this honor."

Byakuya's gaze swept across the room to Sheh. A silent command sent the servant scuttling toward the door with great haste. Stepping across the threshold as Sheh made his departure, Byakuya crossed the room to a sitting mat. Wordlessly, he sat watching his wife. "You should practice," he said evenly.

Hisana repressed the urge to shudder at his calmness. She wondered if under his tranquil look anger was brewing. She suspected not. He did not seem particularly perturbed. The telltale signs of agitation did not crease his face or bend his lips into a frown. Byakuya appeared quite neutral—an objective observer.

"Yes, milord." Inhaling deeply, she gave a quick bow before assuming the dance's first pose. Rigid and unsure, she went through the proscribed motions. The dance was strange but short. When she finished, Hisana held her breath and slowly glanced up at her husband. Her heart hammered a mile a minute in her chest, and she shook, imperceptibly, under the heavy robes. "Your thoughts?" The vibration of her vocal chords stung her throat, and, almost immediately, she regretted the question as it hung unanswered in the air.

She could almost see the words drop like anvils in the air. Tiny ugly anvils.

_Why isn't he answering me? What does that look mean? Was it that bad?_ The flurry of questions poured into her brain only to be processed and discarded as more doubt streamed into her cognizance. Her mind magnified every blink, shadow, or perceived wrinkle on his face a hundred times over.

_I could crawl up and die._

"It is," he began slowly after some contemplation.

Hisana's heart fluttered. If possible, the sound of his voice put her more on edge. She stood ramrod straight in a state of unthinking, numb shock. The only sensation was that of a thousand electrical pinpricks rolling up and down her extremities. Seconds, hours, or _days_ could have elapsed in the interim. She had no clue which. She waited with baited breath for his verdict.

He paused, and, tilting his head slightly to the left, his brow creased. It seemed as if he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. He merely shook his head in lieu of a verbal response.

Her heart sank.

Hisana was certain that his reticence had less to do with how spectacularly she had performed the piece, and more to do with her inelegant movements. "I am," she began, grasping at words. She did not know how to complete her feelings. She _felt_ many things all at once: scared, upset, frustrated with herself, embarrassed, contrite. The list could have gone on.

"You did not seem yourself," he said finally.

Her lips twitched wordlessly. _What does that mean—I did not seem myself?_ It was the least helpful critique that her husband had given her. Byakuya was usually so precise and insightful. He never had shied away from telling her _exactly_ what she had done wrong before. In training, he was very skillful at helping her improve with clear corrections and honest praise. But, then, he seemed _confused_ as to what, _exactly,_ went wrong.

"The steps were correct, but," he began. Again, he took his sweet time finding the correct turn-of-phrase to describe his displeasure. After seemingly scanning his entire mental inventory for the Right Thing to Say, he yet again turned up wanting.

"But?" she prompted him in a forced high-pitched tone.

"You did not seem to connect with it."

Hisana blinked. She had managed to set her features into a stoic expression, but her intense _blinking_ indicated that his critique jarred her. "Did not seem to _connect_?" she repeated his words to herself, but at an audible enough volume for him to hear her.

"Yes," he started, unsure of how to describe his clear discontent with the dance. "You were…"

"Disconnected?" she retorted before he had the chance to ponder over his word choice.

Byakuya's gaze flitted over to her as if she had roused him from a period of deep contemplation. "Yes."

"What does that _mean_?"

Recognition lit his eyes. "Have I upset you?"

Hisana snorted a short breath before closing her eyes. _I am being ridiculous_, she mused. Instinctively, she placed a hand against the back of her neck, and she smiled gently to herself. "No. Not at all, Lord Kuchiki," she murmured. "You are correct. Perhaps I was more worried about getting the steps right than I was about performing it." The response was a slight prevarication. The steps and movements were simple enough, physically. Mentally, however, she felt bested. Knowing that his family would scrutinize her performance with a figurative fine-toothed comb kept her on edge. Instead of imbuing the motions with feeling, she over-compensated on the technical aspects of the dance. She was so in her head that she had checked her heart at the door.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

The earnestness of his question provoked a lop-sided grin from her. "My Lord never asks a question that he does not know the answer to," she teased.

Byakuya lowered his head slightly to indicate that she was correct in her assessment.

"What do you propose?" she asked.

Without a sound, he stood and moved toward the room's threshold. "Follow me," he commanded in soft but clear tone. Slowly, he drew back the door.

Hisana paused at the threshold, and, with a sidelong gaze, she gave her husband a sweet but unsure smile. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, trailing after him.

Wordlessly, he slid a door back and stepped into the room. "Wait here," he commanded quietly. Hisana stopped in the middle of the spacious room and watched as Byakuya disappeared through a door for a few moments. When he returned, he held a red silk scarf in his hands.

"What is that for?" she whispered.

He stepped behind her. "Close your eyes," he said, bringing the red fabric over her head. With quick taut movements, he blindfolded her.

Instinctively, Hisana jerked away the moment she realized his intention, but he was firm and swift to adjust to her sudden change in posture. "Lord Byakuya," she pleaded playfully, "what _are you doing_?"

"Now try the dance," he murmured into her ear.

The warmth of his breath sent a small shudder through her. "Yes, milord." The thought, _But I can't see_, was duly noted, but she did not speak it aloud, having perceived it was his intention.

With small tentative steps, she moved through the dance. Occasionally, she had to check her balance, which led to stray ungraceful movements. She was just about to finish the final pose when she became tangled in the heavy silks of her kimono and stumbled forward. She would have certainly fallen had Byakuya not caught her by her shoulders. Reflexively, she tore the blindfold down and looked up at him with large frantic eyes.

"You fell," he noted matter-of-factly.

"I fell," she repeated, somewhat concerned about his _calmness_. What was he getting at? she wondered. Her brow furrowed as she stared up at him; her eyes demanded an explanation. Never one for needless words, the explanation, however, was written on his face and in his actions: He caught her.

A small smile curved her mouth. "I fell," she said softly. Her hands nervously balled the red scarf into a crinkled wad. It was an unconscious habit; a habit that was quickly stopped when Byakuya pressed his hand against hers.

"Come," he said, pulling her up to her feet, "I have an idea."

_Famous last words,_ she mused wryly to herself. Hisana, however, did not question his intentions. Trust quieted her lips.

His idea was surprisingly unconventional. Dressed in her Shinigami uniform, Hisana's hands and arm steadied the familiar weight of her blade. It had been a _long_ time.

_Too long_, part of her noted darkly.

Without a second thought, she sent a fiery burst his direction. He was too quick, however. Just as she had anticipated. Reflexively, she launched another attack; this time the stream of fire nearly grazed him.

Balanced on a tree limb, Byakuya cocked a brow. "I underestimated your condition."

Hisana grinned and lifted her head up. "How is this related to dancing?" she asked into the tree. "Not that I am complaining," she murmured, panting from the footwork moments prior to her attacks.

Ignoring her question, Byakuya sheathed his sword and bent down, offering her his hand. The command to join him on the sturdy branch was an unspoken one, but one that she was quick to oblige. Gripping his hand in hers, Hisana was amused to find how cool to the touch his flesh was. Of course, it _was_ the dead of winter, but she was thoroughly spent. Her skin slick with sweat and her robes clung to her.

_I am out of practice_, she chastised herself as she steadied her weight on the limb. One glance, however, silenced the choir of self-deprecation that sounded in her head. The view was beautiful. The city at night looked like it was on fire with lights. A light dusting of snow fell, making the lights twinkle as the flurries danced on an errant wind.

"Lovely," she whispered under her breath.

Countless moments passed, and she stood entranced by the beauty. She would have remained engrossed if Byakuya's even voice had not washed over her. It was a fine compliment—his intonation as dark and silky as the nightfall—and she was half-tempted to tune him out, but she relented.

"You are cold," he observed, likely for the second time, as she had not heard his initial words.

"Oh," she said, following his gaze to her hand in his.

A gentle tug led her to the ground. Silence filled her ears as the two moved toward the warm orange lights flickering from the center of the city. The quiet sound of snow falling proved too beautiful to disturb with words.

The silence was broken the moment the two neared the city. The hum of electricity and the chatter of souls punctured the tranquility that settled around the buzzing hub. Hisana found beauty in that as well. The way the nobles and Shinigami weaved in and out to minimize exposure to the winter's chill was graceful.

"Lord Kuchiki," a loud masculine voice cut through Hisana's sudden appreciation for her surroundings. A large bear of a man neared Byakuya, and, upon spotting Hisana, the man's tone and body language softened. He acknowledged her with a small nod of his head before explaining his intrusion: "The Vice Captain of the Sixth requests your presence."

"Don't worry, Lord Kuchiki." Hisana's head and gaze snapped to the right to find Rangiku seemingly appearing from out of nowhere. "Your Lady is safe with me," she said, looping her arm through Hisana's.

Byakuya did not appear _convinced_.

"Come," she said, dragging Hisana toward a random bar. She barely had the time to mouth her goodbyes before the scenery transformed from the bright lights of the city and the dark shades of night to the dark browns and thick smoky air of a bar.

Hisana immediately regretted her decision to inhale a deep breath as it sent her into coughing fit. "So," Rangiku began conversationally.

_She's still sober… sort of…_ Hisana observed. Rangiku's words did not bleed into the next. There was only a mild slur.

"Where is my invitation?" Rangiku teased.

Hisana blinked uncomprehending for a moment. "Invitation?" _To what?_ Realization then suddenly crashed over her. "Oh," she said immediately realizing her lapse. Briefly, she wondered if she had a say in the matter. The ordeal appeared to be planned by those Kuchikis in the _know_. The family certainly had not bothered to consult Hisana about the wedding arrangements. She sort of assumed that it was being planned, but it could have just as easily been the contrary. "I don't think invitations have been disbursed," she said pensively.

Rangiku burst out laughing. "I am teasing you! Take a joke! I mean, did you _really think_ that I am gauche enough to ask?"

Hisana blinked. "I suppose not?" She had meant her reply to be a declaratory statement, but it came out as a question. She had no idea whether it was appropriate to inquire about such things. Marriage was an infrequent thing in Soul Society. It was an institution seemingly reserved for nobility.

"So are you really engaged?"

Hisana's body flashed hot and cold in quick intervals. "Yes," she lied. It had progressed, but that was a secret.

Rangiku was astute, however, and she easily picked up on Hisana's hesitance. "_Yes_," she parroted back, exaggerating the tremble in Hisana's voice. "Hell, yes!" Rangiku said. "You know what we should do?"

Hisana inhaled a deep breath. She was pretty sure that she _did not want to know what they should do_. She, however, remained reticent.

"Jeez, look at you. He _is_ rubbing off on you," Rangiku said downing a shot before twirling Hisana around to get a better view of her.

_Is that a thing?_ Hisana wondered. _Is that something people are saying or thinking? That Byakuya is rubbing off on me?_ She considered the implications for a moment in an attempt to distract herself from the fact that Rangiku was behaving rather oddly.

"What should we do?" Hisana asked tensely.

Rangiku handed Hisana a cup of liquor. It smelled strong, but Hisana was quick to fill her mouth so that she did not feel obligated to speak. "We should do this thing. You know the thing they do in the The World of the Living before people get married?"

Hisana continued chugging the very potent alcohol and shook her head. _No. No I do not._ Her brows shot up to emphasize her lack of familiarity with the living's pre-marriage customs.

"Well, they have a party for the soon-to-be marrieds. A 'hen party' or something like that for the woman. We should do that!"

Hisana busied herself with trying to get every last drop of liquor instead of adding the spark Rangiku was seeking for her idea.

"It is empty," Rangiku said yanking the cup from Hisana's hands. "Here," she said, reaching across the bar for another drink. "We should do it now since you are almost drunk as it is!"

Hisana quickly took another quaff of the beverage. "Sure," she said tentatively, prodded by Rangiku's piercing stare.

"Good!" Rangiku said, clasping her hands together and giving a slight bow of her head. "Now, we need some guys."

Hisana bit her lip nervously as she scanned her surroundings. "The bar is _filled_ with guys. You sure we need _more_?" Her voice was weak and thin. Suddenly, the effects of the alcohol began to dull her senses.

"These are not the _right_ kind of men. And we definitely need more _women_. Wait here, I have an idea!"

Alone, Hisana began to wonder if she would need those senses that she was unthinkingly numbing with liquor. Stiffly, she squeezed against the bar to ask for a water.

"Hey, you gettin' married soon?" one of the men asked. He was a large off-duty Shinigami.

Her cheeks heated as she turned to gaze up at him. "Yes," she murmured meekly.

"Rounds for the lady," he chuckled.

The large man's proclamation quickly drew attention to Hisana. "Hey, you're the bitch that is marrying that Lord So-and-So!" another male voice called.

She nodded a slow mortified answer. Words bubbled up from her chest, but caught in her throat. _Was that the right response?_

"Wait, you mean that is the girl from Rukongai that is getting hitched to that noble?" an unfamiliar voice asked, seemingly sure of the response on her part. When she gave a stiff nod of her head, he asked a follow up question: "You pregnant?"

Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head.

"Drinks for the lady!"

"Yeah! Any noble from Rukongai is alright by me!"

Hisana nearly fainted. She would die of alcohol poisoning if she consumed the amount of alcohol that was being thrown (charitably) her way.

When Rangiku returned with at least 40 other Shinigami, she was quite pleased to find Hisana seated at a table filled with drinks. "Wow! Are these yours?" she asked, looking in awe of the sheer amount of liquor.

"Those, too," Hisana murmured, jerking her chin in the direction of two other tables covered with cups of various types of spirits.

"You are really taking this hen party seriously! I am proud of you, Hisana, for _committing_." Without warning (or enough warning), Rangiku scooped Hisana up in her arms and gave her a tight (suffocating) hug.

The night felt like a blur, which only got blurrier with each subsequent drink shoved into Hisana's hands. Far from blackout drunk, Hisana did manage to disentangle herself from the mob of "hens" to sit quietly to collect herself. Mostly, she prayed for the world to stop spinning. The party was slowly dying as the hens either opted to find a bed to rest in or a partner to sleep with away from the bar.

"Another drink for the lady," a chirpy waitress announced.

"Oh, I don't think—,"Hisana began only to be cut off by the server's abrupt shake of the head and pleading eyes. The waitress's gaze betrayed her anxiety about the matter. Astutely, Hisana followed the waitress's look.

A smile split her lips when she realized _who_ had sent the drink. Plucking the cup from the waitress's tray, Hisana lifted the glass in a silent cheers, and she took a sip.

"Come on, Hisana!" Rangiku muttered, consonants bumping into one another that Hisana was only somewhat sure that those were the words Rangiku uttered. Either way, Rangiku's gesture for Hisana to join her was universally understood.

Sliding off the bar, Hisana managed to find herself roped onto the small but crowded dance floor. "Come here, dance with me," Rangiku said, drunkenly, using Hisana as a crutch.

"I think it's time we head back to the Tenth," Hisana murmured.

"Never!" Rangiku protested half-heartedly, "I have _so much_. So much, Hisana."

"I got her." The familiar male voice instantly calmed Hisana. Her gaze flitted up to find her Vice Captain shifting Rangiku's weight onto his shoulder.

"I can help," Hisana insisted. "How else will I repay you for such a fine drink."

A small boyish grin tugged at a side of his mouth. "I told the waitress to keep it anonymous."

"The waitress was perfectly dutiful," Hisana teased sweetly.

"It was the least I could do."

"I did not even know you were here," she said softly, slinging one of Rangiku's arms over her shoulder.

"Rangiku insisted. Practically dragged me from the Thirteenth's barracks."

"Who else was gonna?" Rangiku murmured almost nonsensically.

Hisana's brows creased at Rangiku's incomplete statement.

"I am glad you came," Hisana murmured.

"Yeah, who else would help you with this big oaf," he teased the semi-conscious Rangiku. His barbed comment, however, went unnoticed.

"It was all Rangiku's idea," Hisana said softly as the two continued at a crawl toward the Tenth.

"I am glad I came."

"Damn straight. Who else was gonna—," Rangiku began again, but then she slumped over.

"So when is the wedding?" Kaien asked.

Hisana glanced up at him. She could tell that he seemed uncomfortable with the topic of marriage. She always assumed it was because he was not particularly fond of Byakuya.

"I have no idea," she said, straining under Rangiku's weight. "How about you and Miyako?"

Kaien's lips twitched at her question. "That was _supposed _to be _private_," he chuckled.

"Nothing is private around here," Hisana said as she fumbled with door to Rangiku's quarters. Quickly, the two dumped the Tenth's Vice Captain onto the bed before leaving.

Outside of the door, Hisana stretched out her tired muscles. "So?"

"Soonish."

Hisana smiled. "Good."

"Look," Kaien said. Distractedly, he glanced up into the firmament, "dawn will be breaking soon."

"I suppose so," Hisana said, cupping a hand against the back of her neck.

"I will escort you to the _manor_," he announced. Before Hisana had the chance to protest, he interrupted her. "We can't risk having the future Lady of the _Noble Kuchiki Family_ going missing." While his voice was tinged with derision, he seemed hell bent on the offer itself.

"I don't think the family would mind that," she teased as the pair wound their way through the Tenth.

"Is that so?" Kaien asked, unsurprised.

Hisana shot him a disbelieving look and shook her head, knowing that he was patronizing her. "At least you are marrying well," she said softly.

"Same could be said of Byakuya."

Hisana cocked her head to the side, unmoved by his complement. "Don't be insincere," she chided.

"I'm _not._" He wore his most earnest expression.

She shot him an incredulous stare.

An uncomfortable silence draped over the two as they moved through a densely shaded area. "The gate to the estate is through the thicket," Hisana said softly.

"I suppose a Shiba is not welcomed on the premises?" Kaien teased.

"Well, neither am I, mostly," she said softly.

Kaien's lips sloped into frown. "Their loss."

Hisana beamed up at him. "Indeed," she murmured before bowing. She was just about to turn on the ball of her heel when she felt a tug at her arm. All it took was a quick yank, and she was in a tight embrace.

A tight filial embrace.

. . . .

Hisana woke up alone in her room at the Kuchiki estate. Her bed was cold, indicating that her husband had not shared it with her. "Eh," she muttered into her pillow.

Everything hurt.

Her head pounded. Her muscles throbbed. Even her throat was sore.

"Rangiku," she moaned under her breath. Somewhat annoyed by her own debauchery, Hisana ran her hand through her inky tresses, hoping it would alleviate the pain. It did not. It only made it worse.

"Milady?" Sheh called into the room as he drew the door back. "Milord sends his apologies. There was a happening at the Division."

"How did I let this come about?" she asked softly. Trying to reconstruct the evening was proving futile. Her memory began and ended with the squadrons of drinks flanking her at the bar. Lovely pools of liquid of varying colors and potency filled her head.

"You came in at some ungodly hour. Your handmaiden found you in your room around 6 in the morning."

"Huh," she mused, realizing that Sheh was standing a stone's throw from her bedside. "Is milord well?" she asked.

"He is. The Vice Captain of the Sixth sent him to the World of the Living on a perfunctory something-or-other. He should return in time for your dance."

She shot up and into a seated position. A cold panic seized her chest. Both her heart and lungs refused to work for a sold 30 seconds. "What?" she gasped in a strangled breath. She had completely forgotten about the dance, and it was _that_ afternoon.

"I brought you tea. If there is anything milady requires while she _practices_, let me know at once."

Hisana's large eyes met Sheh's. "Thank you," she whispered.

He bowed deeply before turning toward the door. Reaching for the wood to pull back, Sheh paused at the threshold and gave Hisana a gentle sidelong glance. "Lord Kuchiki requests that you dance from your heart."

Hisana's look of mortification quickly melted. Her lips lengthened into a small smile, and the glint of fear in her eyes morphed into a sparkle of contentedness.

"I will try my best to respect his wishes."


	27. Dance

**Chapter 26: Dance**

Ceremonial torches lit the chamber. Dark and musty, the cavernous room filled with reds, yellows, and blacks. Inky shadows flickered across the walls, floor, and ceiling. The brillant light of the flames amplified and aggrandized every step of the foot and every billow of a robe.

Byakuya bowed as was the custom. Gracefully, he slid into seiza, and he held the pose for a few heartbeats before the soothsayer acknowledged his presence. The soothsayer lifted his head. His age was clearly written on his face—deep creases spanned his leathery forehead, and a few silvery hairs sprouted out from his temples. "Ah, if it is not the Lord of the Kuchiki family. What a pleasure." His voice cracked with the same earthy intensity as the crackle of the fire circling the room. "You are here to have your fortune read, correct?" the soothsayer asked, looking at Byakuya but not seeing the Kuchiki leader. Cataracts had stolen the man's vision; only a cloudy gaze met Byakuya.

Perceiving Byakuya's response before the noble could utter it, the man continued, "Of course you are. You must find that question nonsensical. The _Great_ Byakuya Kuchiki has better matters to which to attend than idle chatter with this old man." The soothsayer chuckled, a thin creaky snigger.

Byakuya cocked a brow in reply. There was something off about the man. For the flames roaring in the room, the chamber was oddly cold. With each exhalation, a puff of white smoke escaped his nose. And, the soothsayer's reiatsu was strange. Byakuya could not quite put his finger on it—whether it was the glassy dead-eye stare or the soothsayer's expressionless demeanor—but the man _felt_ haunted.

Byakuya shook his head. Inwardly, he admonished himself for letting his imagination carry him away. It had been a long time since a flight of fancy had stolen his attention so decidedly.

"You are here to learn of your and your _wife's_ fortune per Kuchiki custom?" The soothsayer's voice shattered Byakuya's contemplation.

Somewhat startled, Byakuya's head bobbed up, and he inhaled a sharp breath. "Yes," he said evenly. _Had the man just referred to Hisana as his "wife"?_ Byakuya paused, sorting through the man's words. He could not be sure because he only had been paying half-attention to the question moments prior.

A toothless grin parted the soothsayer's lips. "It is fortuitous that your wife's symbol is fire," he joked quietly. "It is a very cold day, eh?"

Byakuya's brows pulled together. The soothsayer definitely called Hisana his "wife" then. "We are not married," Byakuya corrected. His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he briefly wondered if the soothsayer discerned his mendacity.

"Oh, is that so?" the soothsayer asked, pensive. Slowly, his sightless gaze lifted as he considered his words. "_Or is that what you wish me to believe?_" he asked in a distinctly darker tone. His voice sounded barely above a whisper, but Byakuya understood the meaning well enough. "Have it your way," the soothsayer hummed to himself. "Your hand and your _betrothed's_ personal effect." Slowly, the soothsayer's knotty fingers unfurled, revealing his wrinkled palm.

With some hesitance, Byakuya wrapped one of Hisana's handkerchiefs around his hand, and he submitted to the request. Tentatively, Byakuya placed his hand on the soothsayer's palm. The moment the weight of Byakuya's hand settled, the soothsayer lifted his arm, directing Byakuya's hand toward the fire burning in front of them. Wildly, the man gesticulated over the flame. Byakuya could feel the heat from the fire kiss his skin. The muscles around his eyes twitched and his chest clenched as he looked on. A nagging voice of doubt pulled at the levers of his thoughts—it was entirely possible that his family had lost their minds. Why would this be a _tradition_ otherwise?

As Byakuya initially suspected, the handkerchief proved to be an effective wick. A few passes across the fire, and it caught flame. To Byakuya's relief, the silk merely disintegrated into ash around his hand. His flesh remained unscathed.

"Such a sign," the soothsayer murmured in a voice that sounded as creaky as a loose floorboard. With staccato and jerky movements, he grabbed and prodded Byakuya's fingers and palm. "Her heart is a protective one, but her spirit is like that of a sword that was forged strong but became brittle from years of wars." The soothsayer then leaned forward in his seat—toward the flame—and he waved the smoke to his face—smelling it, letting it infuse his essence. After several deep long breaths, he closed his eyes and raised his head. Moments passed, and, satisfied with the concentration of smoke in his lungs, the soothsayer exhaled deeply and opened his eyes.

A strange light flickered in the man's cloudy eyes. It took only a second, but Byakuya caught the luminance. It was a sad sort of flame that caught in those foggy grey eyes, like a stark naked truth crashing over someone. "It is beautiful," the soothsayer murmured, entranced. His eyes moved as if he was reading a long scroll. "You will have a love like a blooming sakura—beautiful but transitory." The soothsayer pulled his chin down to his neck and shut his eyes.

"The remnants will be everlasting."

Byakuya's heart sank…

. . . .

Fire—red, yellow, and orange—it was a fine frenzy. Painted white like a porcelain doll, she commanded the stage. She moved through space with a great purpose. A greater purpose than he had seen in practice.

She looked like she had caught flame.

The kimono was redder than he remembered, but it suited her. The self-possessed manner in which she held herself also suited her. Aloof and regal—she looked like a member of royalty who had deigned to share her skills for a few moments before returning to the heavens.

It was beautiful.

Byakuya's gaze lingered on his wife for a few moments as she held her final pose. She stared out into the crowd. Her eyes were dark and just as fiery as her performance. Applause—rippling through the crowd—however, broke her concentration.

Byakuya could not blame her. The thunderous cheers filled the air, blotting out any other auditory stimuli. It was _distracting_, but he held his gaze.

Her eyes were frantically scanning the crowd. On her face was a mixture of gratitude (that the audience approved) and horror (that they had regarded her performance at all). She also seemed panicked that she could not find what she sought.

Byakuya lifted his head. Silently, he stared at her as if he could soundlessly command her attention to him. But, will alone would not suffice. The crowd was too large; it seemed to have taken a life of its own—a giant breathing organism. The crowd had absorbed him; he was merely part of the tapestry now—a single thread among many.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced down at his attire. No fine silks, ceremonial vestments, or priceless Kuchiki heirlooms adorned him. Even his hair flowed freely down his shoulders. He was perfectly unassuming and alone.

It was all by choice.

This dance was _hers_. She had tortured herself for _weeks_ to "finish" it. She deserved it and the praise. His status would not overshadow her talent; he refused.

Absently, he turned on his heel, and he took a long stride forward. His leg extended, but, before it had the chance to rebound, he stopped short. His reflexes were sharp and fast, kicking on just in time to prevent him from stumbling over something. In the adrenaline bath, he did not quite ascertain _what_ or _whom_, exactly, he nearly collided into. However, after instinct averted the personal disaster, he steadied himself and found two large violet eyes staring up into his. The eyes belonged to a small pink-headed child, who was wrapped up in a tiny Shihakushō.

"Ugh," the girl cried, realizing the near miss. Her cheeks were as pink as her hair, and she beamed up at him. "It was great!"

Byakuya's brows knitted together as he considered his escape. "Yes," he murmured, trying to thread through the crowd. The child, however, was only a beat behind. She was incredibly persistent and adroit for her age.

"I couldn't see nothing, but I _know _it was great!" she wailed out, lengthening her stride to match his. "I'll be just like her someday!" She resorted to flash step when she realized his pace was too long.

Byakuya paid her no heed as he wound his way toward the stage, but try as he might to ignore the girl-child's incessant rambling, her squeaky high-pitched voice echoed through his head. He could almost feel her girlish whine resonate in his teeth.

She had given him a toothache.

"She is from Rukongai just like me!" she continued in a sing-song-like cadence. "She is going to marry a _prince_, and, when she is done with him, I will marry him too and become Lady!"

Byakuya's left eye twitched at the girl's logic. The whole sentiment unnerved him, but it was her logic that he found most appalling. It just needled his brain like a stubborn splinter. "There cannot be two Ladies of the House," he spat, unable to contain his disgust at the idea.

The girl paused mid-step, and, pressing a finger against her lips, she gazed up and to the right. "Eh?" she squeaked as if she had never considered the possibility that there could be only one Lady. The musing, however, was a fleeting thing, and she quickly discarded it with a simple question: "_Why not_?"

Byakuya shot her a piercing sidelong glare before pushing forward through the throng of souls. As if he was going to explain himself to a mere child! Half-heartedly, he employed a simple flash technique, which appeared to work. Upon reaching the stage, he paused for a few seconds to make sure he had lost the child. Certain that she could not have matched his speed, he continued to the back of the stage.

A few haphazardly constructed walls behind the stage served as dressing rooms. The buzz of activity had died down, likely because of the fifteen-minute intermission between Hisana's dance and the next performance. Silently, he moved down the hallway, feeling for his wife's reiatsu. A gentle warm wave of energy emanated from a nearby room. Soundlessly, he peeled back the door and stepped inside.

There she was.

Gracefully, Hisana sat seiza in front of a small vanity. The red silk still clung to her small shoulders. The stiff collar dipped down enough to expose the sliver of skin on the back of her neck that she had not painted white.

A small shiver climbed down his back as his attention focused on the naked skin. It seemed so provocative. Within seconds, however, her hair, once pinned up, came cascading down her shoulders.

"Lord Byakuya," Hisana called sweetly, glimpsing him in her mirror. "Did you approve of my performance?"

He nodded.

She turned and smiled up at him. "Your approval warms my heart." Effortlessly, she stood. With a gentle grace, she lifted her arm, beckoning him to come closer. He obliged and reached out to take her hand in his.

She extended her arm further, but her hand passed his. "You brought a friend," she noted sweetly, patting the pink head of the child that had cause him so much annoyance moments before.

"What?" he muttered, turning his head to find the child perched adroitly on his shoulder.

"Oh, my!" the girl squealed. "You are Hisa! And if _you _are Hisa then _you_ must be Bya!" she said bending down to get a good look at Byakuya. Propping her weight against his head, she leaned over, obscuring his vision. All he could see was her face, which was only a few centimeters from his own and angled at an upside-down position, and her bubblegum-colored hair.

Hisana chuckled. "Hello there, little one," she said in a soft motherly voice. She extended her hand out in friendship. The child's head popped up, and, using Byakuya's head and shoulders as a brace, she grabbed a fistful of Hisana's silk sleeve.

Hisana giggled, amused. "From what division do you come?" Hisana tilted her head to the side as she observed the girl. A small grin lengthened her lips as she examined the child's attire. The uniform was so familiar and yet so alien at the same time. Hisana had never seen a Shihakushō so small before.

"The best one!" the girl piped up cheerfully.

"Of course," Hisana said gently. "And which division is the best?"

"Eleven, of course!" the child blurted out in the tone-deaf voice so common to excited children.

"You should return there," Byakuya grumbled. In a flash, he plucked the child from his shoulder by the collar of her uniform. Carefully, he set her down before pushing her to the door.

"I'll take good care of him when you are done!" the girl chirped at the top of lungs before Byakuya had the chance to close the door behind her.

Hisana waved politely, "Goodbye, little Shinigami."

Byakuya secured the door before turning, aghast at the girl's behavior. His face must have exposed his inner turmoil because Hisana crossed her arms and chuckled.

"She was lively," Hisana said in between giggles. "Where did you find her?"

"I believe _she_ found _me_ in the crowd," Byakuya muttered under his breath, wishing to _forget_ the strange little girl.

Hisana cocked her head to the side. Her gaze softened, and an impish grin played across her lips.

"What?" he asked blankly, unsure of what she was trying to convey with that look. It seemed maternal, but he did not know what could have elicited such a feeling. He surely had not displayed adequate parenting skills toward the child. He treated her less like the petulant child that she was and more like a yappy dog.

Hisana shook her head, but her warm expression did not fade. "I am happy to see you. I was worried that you had been delayed," she said, turning to the vanity. "Did your mission go well?"

"Yes," he said gazing at her back. He could hear the soft susurrus of silk. Her small fumbling motions meant she was in the process of unknotting the threads that kept her contained inside the furisode.

He stopped the rustling of cloth and flurry of movements with a touch. Standing scarcely a hairsbreadth from her, he placed a tentative hand against her shoulder. The silk was soft and warm. Almost as soft and warm as the skin beneath.

An imperfect movement sent her spinning around and tumbling against his chest. An imperfect movement caught her. Imperfect memories captured her—her warmth, her fragrance, the way her body felt pressed against his. He only wished that he could capture her body and spirit until the end of his days.

The words of the soothsayer rang in his ears—a memory he wished to forget—but it resounded inside him. Like the beating of a moth's wings, the words fluttered in his heart, never to be forgotten. He had not realized their impact, their meaning, until just then. Seeing her in the flesh—the way she wore her hair, the way she moved through space, and her mischievous looks—pulled at the strings of his mind and heart.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

He could feel her lips move against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her breath sink through the blue fabric of his kimono and heat his flesh. A sudden feeling of painful sorrow seized him as he considered the number of moments left.

"Yes," he murmured against her hair. '_Dark inky hair that smelled of white plum.' _He hoped the answer sounded convincing because it certainly did not _feel_ convincing. His heart sank, and his insides felt like they had been set on fire.

He desperately wanted to shake the soothsayer's words. He wanted to discount the vision of a questionably lucid man. But, the sentiments could not be discarded. They had settled into his very marrow, confirming countless suspicions from countless individuals—himself included. Countless nights he had spent wondering if it would end well. Countless moments he had tried to convince himself that others were wrong. Countless failed attempts to rid the terrible hunger that she incited in him.

It could not be helped. Not now, anyway. His feelings for her had progressed to some sort of terminal stage. The feeling, the need, and the wanting could not be cured now or ever. Fate had sealed them together.

All he could do was ensure that it never happened again.

Hisana lifted her head. Her dark eyes were wide and innocent to his thoughts. "Lord Byakuya?" Meeting his gaze, concern creased her face. Her lips trembled ever so slightly. Her breathing became ragged. All were signs of a troubled mind.

He merely prayed that she did not repeat her question for he was unsure whether he could manage the same response.

"Lord Byakuya," she said in an airy, almost breathless voice.

He held his breath, but the question never came. Instead, she offered him a conciliatory kiss on the lips. The kiss made every muscle, bone, and fiber inside him cry out. The deaths of his mother, his father, his grandfather, and even his mentor had each taken a part of him. Pieces of his heart had been scattered across the graves of those he had loved and mourned. If he survived Hisana, he was certain that her death would fracture a substantial and irreplaceable piece of him.

. . . .

The shadows crept into the room, squelching the remaining remnants of natural light. Hisana watched as the inky tendrils of night crawled up the walls behind her. The small flame of a candle situated on her desk kept the darkness at bay.

'_Mostly at bay_,' she mused to herself as she continued to stare into her reflection. The cold chill of her brush's ivory handle stung her hands for a few moments as she pulled the brush through her hair. Hesitantly, her eyes flicked up to catch a glimpse of her slumbering husband. He had been out of sorts all day.

'_I hope he was not ashamed of my performance.'_

She kept hoping that he was truthful in his praise. All the reviews of her dance had been positive. Even her detractors had little criticism of the dance itself. Of _her_, in general, they had a mouthful of vitriol to spill, but not of her performance. Even members of his family had commended her.

'_If it wasn't the dance, then what?'_

She came up empty. Her health had improved greatly. She no longer received regular care at the Fourth. She had started a new training regime. She did not tire as easily.

'_Could it be the family?'_

Sheh made no mention of strife in the family. Or, at least, _recent_ strife. The same fiery hatred that filled many of the Kuchiki elders likely burned on. The sting of their resentment and captious actions had begun to relent. The looks, sneers, and venom no longer smarted as they once had. Briefly, Hisana wondered if Byakuya also coped with the hurt that his family inflicted on them. He seemed immune or, at least, inured to it.

'_Years of that sort of scrutiny would do it.'_ Hope crested in her chest for a few seconds: Perhaps, she, too, would harden to it? A small dark smile curled the corners of her mouth up. '_What a morbid thing to hope for…'_

Shaking her head, Hisana placed her comb on the vanity and folded her hands in her lap. Idly, her gaze flicked up to the mirror looming over her. '_I look tired_.' Her bleary vision could not mistake the large dark circles that hung under her eyes. '_Damn Rangiku and her plots.'_ A small grin vanquished her thoughts. '_Damn me for her plots.'_ There was enough blame to go around on that one, she mused. Reflexively, she glanced over her shoulder.

Byakuya slept.

Seeing him slumbering elicited a strange reaction—her heart sped its pace. '_He cannot read my thoughts!'_ She chastised herself, but there it was. An imperfect flutter in her chest sent electric prickles through her circulatory system. Thoughts of the beastly hen party could not bump into the thoughts she had for her husband. It was improper!

A pang of guilt stabbed her heart before splintering in her chest. '_Guilt?'_ She had not considered her actions the night prior to be particularly scandalous. She had sat and had watched mostly while sipping strange foreign drinks at varying intervals. She had imbibed too much; that much was true. But she had not partaken in the merrymaking—or at least the type of merrymaking for which Rangiku was notorious.

Hisana shook her head, and, mid-grimace, her fingers unfurled. The action was instinctive—hardwired into her muscles from years at the Second. The familiar flutter against the tip of her index finger pulled her attention. "Is that so," she murmured, eyes meeting the hell butterfly. "Strange," she said, watching the insect's wings begin to beat as it took off. "I imagine we are far enough away," she said, feeling somewhat dazed.

"Lord Byakuya?" Her voice became stronger, but it was still too weak to pierce through his thick blanket of slumber. Soundlessly, Hisana stood and crossed the floor to his futon. With gentle hands, she roused him. "Lord Byakuya," she called soothingly, gripping his arm.

A few tugs and caresses later, his eyes opened. "Hisana?" Drowsily, he pulled himself into a seated position. "Is something awry?"

She nodded her head. "An attack."

A great burst of frenzied movements commenced. Swishes of heavy fabric pulled over her shoulders, and she slid her socked feet into appropriate winter footwear. Despite her adroit movements and quick fingers, she was still trailing her husband through the door.

The night's chill burned her cheeks, and, with each inhalation, the icy burn crept down her throat toward her lungs until they seized, frozen. Gasping for air, Hisana pressed on, trying her hardest to match Byakuya's footwork. He was too quick for her.

'_Oh no_!'

Instinct pulled at the strings of her muscle fibers. She halted as if an invisible wall stood before her. A great oppressive force crashed down, and she submitted. Bent close to the ground, her fingers searched the cold wet snow. Finding a strong-knotted branch, she gripped it and braced herself.

'_The reiatsu…'_

It came from all directions. She felt like she was spinning—disoriented. Every molecule vibrated around her; and her whole body felt like it was humming along with the air and ground. She glanced up. The air in front of her distorted, reverberating in kind. "What is this?" she called out, hoping that she was still within earshot of her husband.

No response.

Hisana waited a few more moments, confirming what her gut already knew: Byakuya passed through immune from the spiritual pressure. "Whose is it?" she murmured to herself, raising her voice above the loud rumbling of earth. She did not know that signature. All she could hope for was that it belonged to a Shinigami and _not_ to an attacker.

Squinting into the distance, she began to inch forward. The pressure was so strong: Her muscles burned against the force as she clutched the root in her hand to stabilize her body. Her heart raced, pumping blood loudly in her ears. Even her sight faltered—snow and the distortion waves obscured her field of vision.

Yet, she continued forward. Her fingers stung as she dug them into the cold snow, clawing through the snow for soil. Clenching her jaws and grimacing, she pulled herself bit by painful bit toward the source.

Lifting her hand, Hisana's fingers reached for the next tether. Her muscles buckled against the tension and force. Her body trembled as she pressed forward. She could not stop, but she was slipping. Reflexive and lightning fast, she drew her Zanpakutō from it sheath, and plunged it deep into the frozen ground. The blade shone pale red in the silvery light of twilight—heated from the fire within, the sword slid into the ground like a warm knife through butter.

"Come!" A voice, low and soft, washed over her. The voice was familiar to her ears, but it was not easily recognizable. Before Hisana had the chance to look up, the stranger had grabbed her arm and ushered her forward. Nimbly, she yanked her sword out of the ground, and whirled it around to the perceived intrusion. Moonbeams caught in the steel, bouncing off the reflective surface and illuminating the blade as it did so.

The point of her Zanpakutō pressed against the man's neck. Slowly, her gaze traveled down the hilt of her sword to the face of the intruder. The shadows that clouded his features dispersed with a small shake of his head.

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as an icy wave washed over her. "Captain Aizen!" The muscles in her arm slackened, and her sword lowered. The breath caught in her lungs quickly dispelled, leaving her gasping from the mixture of shock and horror that swirled through her.

A knowing grin flickered across his face before disappearing in the darkness. It was only for an instant, but Hisana caught it, and it elicited a small quake in her heart. Her eyes narrowed, and her breath hitched as she silently tried to understand his look. His expression, however, quickly melted into an unshakable stare as he looked into the snowy nightfall.

Shaking herself free of the flight of fancy, Hisana followed his look. The horrible pressure and sound waned in intensity. Hisana stood without much exertion, and the distortion lines cleared. Mid-step, Aizen released her hand, and, without missing a beat, she matched his cadence. It was as she feared—the reiatsu belonged to an opponent.

"It isn't dead yet," she mumbled, still breathless.

"Not yet," Aizen concurred, stepping into a patch of moonlit snow, "but it is alone now," he observed. His gaze turned skyward, and he halted.

'_There were two?'_ her thoughts screamed, hoping that she had misheard the 's pace slowed, and she paused to survey the forested area. Inky pines shot up from the ground and loomed over them. Smoke bellowed high above their heads, and the smell of a fresh fire filled their lungs.

"The center of the city is on fire," Hisana observed, lifting her eye-line above the trees. Her gaze was unshakable as she tried to locate Byakuya's signature.

"This way," Aizen commanded. Short strides sent him scurrying toward the right, and Hisana dutifully followed the captain with her sword drawn and ready. "Wait," he said, stopping short, and raising his hand.

A gentle rumble filled her ears, and the ground began to roll like waves under her feet. Whatever foe awaited them was large and heavy, she noted to herself, gripping the hilt of sword tightly. With each heartbeat, the intensity of the rumble and the vibration amplified.

Hisana scanned the area. Her stomach dropped, and a shiver inched down her spine. Something was awry. She could _feel_ it in the air. Suddenly, the snowy forest became still. Too still. Her body tensed on reflex. Unthinkingly, she and Aizen flash-stepped from their respective places.

Finding her footing in the fresh powder, Hisana lashed out defensively. A burst of fire scorched the earth as it traveled toward the large beast. She had timed the attack perfectly, but it was quickly countered.

"What?" Hisana muttered under her breath. She could hardly _believe_ it. Squinting in disbelief, her heart sank. Just as the fire was about to sear the monster's leg, it diverged, seemingly deflected. "Some sort of force field?" she wondered out loud.

"The hollow is immune to kido," Aizen observed evenly.

Hisana's head snapped to the side, getting a better look at the captain. He was so calm. His face was expressionless. She could not quite determine where his gaze had settled for the lenses of his glasses reflected the glow of the fire that quickly circled the perimeter of the hollow.

"At least I know where the barrier is," she murmured, glancing up for a brief moment. Realization came crashing down on her. "The trees…" Frozen white with ice and snow, the tall pines and deciduous trees were heavy and potentially lethal.

Her gaze shifted back to the large hollow. The ring of fire agitated the beast. It moved back and forth—not perfectly aware that its natural shield proved to be an effective barrier. Frantically, it swayed, likely unable to see much beyond the flames and smoke. Straightening to its full height, it peered out into the wintry night. Covering its head with its small bird-like arms, its gaze slowly followed the line of fire to Hisana's sword, still plunged into the ground. Enraged, the beast fanned out, seemingly expanding several kilometers on either side, and it roared.

The air became suddenly thick and heavy with sound and vibrations. The ground rolled under her feet. The monster's din was disorienting as was its sudden emission of reitsu. The pressure became so intense, that Hisana huddled down, bracing herself against her sword, and, instinctively, unleashing another wave of fire. Every bone, tendon, and ligament rattled in her body at the prolonged impact.

Her fiery attack proved treacherous, as the hollow's barrier deflected some of the flames into the forest. Hisana quickly flung herself and her sword backward, away from the fireball hurling toward her. The muscles in her arms snapped into rigid position, wielding her sword in front of her.

Bracing against her own attack, Hisana's eyes flicked up to the firmament. She bit her lip—hard—drawing blood. '_Give me strength_,'she begged of Amaterasu. Her body locked against the impact of her next attack. The Zanpakutō seemingly drew out her very essence as it redirected her previous attack skyward.

Hisana strained to lift her head and open her eyes. A thick warm fluid cascaded down her face, obscuring her vision. She, however, paid her aching body, pounding heart, and stinging flesh no heed. Muscle fiber by muscle fiber, she drew herself up to find the hollow buried under several downed trees. Panicked, she surveyed the area for Aizen. _'Please, be alive,_' her inner voice chanted several times before she located the captain. Aizen loomed over the fallen hollow. It took a flick of his wrist, and his Zanpakutō slid into its sheath.

Slow and unsteady—Hisana pulled herself up, using her sword as a cane. Shifting her weight against the center of her Zanpakutō, she bent at the waist. Her breath rasped out of her throat, and her heart hammered a thready beat. Blackness streaked her vision—ever threatening to encroach further.

'_That was inadvisable_,' she thought sardonically the moment blood and sweat seeped into her eyes. A burning sensation quickly blurred her vision with tears. Her eyelids snapped shut, squeezing her eyes until the pain diminished.

"Hisana!"

Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. '_Byakuya?'_ she wondered. Her heart swelled with hope. She managed to pry her eyes open for a brief second. Her gaze flickered to the source of the sound before her eyelids squeezed shut. "Lord," she cried out, extending her arm forward. Her fingers unfurled from her palm, and, in darkness, she waited for his touch. Cold air bit her warm flesh for what felt like millennia.

"Hisana," the voice filled her ears once more. This time it felt closer. She could almost _feel_ the sound reverberate against her cheek.

With a swift motion, she was pulled against a great warm expanse. Hard and chiseled and soft and fragrant—she inhaled deeply. "Lord Byakuya," she whispered against the sticky heat of damp silk. He felt so real and so hot, like a flame that had been lit for hours. Forcing her eyes open, she tilted her head up to see his face. Byakuya peered down at her. Shadows veiled his features, and the pieces of his countenance that moonlight deigned to illuminate were slick with sweat.

"What happened?" she managed, breathless. Silence filled the spaces between them. A dark cold quiet.

"Lord Kuchiki?"

Hisana stirred against her husband. The voice belonged to Captain Aizen, and it emanated from behind her. If she had not gone mad, she was certain the good captain sounded nonplussed at his observation. For a moment, she considered the implications: Why did the captain sound surprised? Had he not anticipated Byakuya's presence? Or had he not anticipated Byakuya's _survival_?

She pulled away from her husband, and stared, blurry eyed, in Aizen's direction.

"Captain Aizen," Byakuya responded quietly.

"I take it that you dispatched the other hollow?"

Hisana's gaze shot over to Byakuya. He gave a silent nod of his head. "Yes."

Aizen smiled. "That is quite impressive, Lord Kuchiki," he praised. Gracefully, he pushed the glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "_Lady_ Hisana's quick wit served us well."

Byakuya's eyes twitched at the insinuation, but he made not a remark.

"Captain Aizen saved us," Hisana said sweetly. "Thank you." She bowed humbly before the captain, "How will I repay your act of kindness?" When she straightened, she crossed her arms demurely in front of her chest, but there was a flash in her eyes. A flash that Aizen did not mistake, and he lifted his head in response.

"Hisana is too generous," he said quietly. His words, however, were eclipsed by a thunderous clap.

Breathless, the three soldiers turned their attention to the direction of the din. "The city," Hisana cried.

In the blink of an eye, they were off. Deep in the thick of smoke, fire, and the clanging of steel against steel, the city was a frenzy. Live, breathing, and dangerous –the atmosphere was suffocating. Spiritual pressure from different sources flooded the area. It was clear that the battle arena had been set, and that arena was the center of Seireitei.

Perched high atop one of the division buildings, Hisana stood quietly overlooking the situation. The smoke was thick, burning her lungs and eyes. Flinchingly, she crouched with her hands pressed against the roof's tiles. There was _something_ awry—something _beyond_ the obvious attack. The rebel forces had not orchestrated this assault. It was too clean. It required too much planning, but, most of all, there was hollow involvement. The rebels did not control hollows. The rebels could hardly control their own members.

Hisana could almost hear the second hand move as she sat perfectly still watching the commotion down below. _'I must be above the Eighth,'_ she noted to herself. She recognized several of the Eighth's soldiers fighting beneath her. They appeared competent enough (thanks in no small part to the Eight's Vice Captain).

A flicker, however, caught her eye. It was brief, but unmistakable. A red light seared its way into her consciousness, and she could not help but follow the light. With swift and calculated movements, she flitted from rooftop to rooftop. Soundless and graceful, she hunted the light. Her left arm began to go numb as she neared it. Lowering her position, she shook her arm, hoping the nerves would awaken. Instead, the needless motion seemed to make the appendage _throb_. The throbbing—almost _humming_—sensation crawled its way up her affected arm to her shoulder where it then shot across her back.

Hisana winced in mortal agony. "What is this?" she muttered under her breath. It felt as if she had been stabbed with a poisoned blade. Frantically, she pulled the sleeve of her kimono up her arm. _Nothing_. No harm, abrasion, or contusion marked her limb. Her skin was white and soft to the touch. The fiery burn, however, did not remit. Instead, the pain became more visceral, more scorching as it wound its way to her chest.

Clutching her chest, Hisana pressed her lips fast together to stifle the scream simmering in the back of her throat. She had lost all use of her left arm, and she shook as she tried to stand. Blackness began to flicker across her vision. Her stomach began to churn, and bile rose in her throat, threatening to spew forward at any moment.

Hisana, undeterred, continued her pursuit. Her steps were heavier now. Her footing less stable as she dashed from roof to roof. But, she pressed on. Landing on a loose tile, Hisana stumbled forward. Heavy footfalls skated across the vulnerable roofing, causing tiles to begin to skid off the building. Feeling the roof slide, Hisana quickly tried to maintain her footing, but it felt like she was sinking in quicksand. It was inevitable. Once this realization claimed her, she let go, succumbing to the icy terror of falling and the hard impact of landing on broken tiles and ground beneath.

Hisana, however, was quick to unsheathe her sword. Fire shot down her blade, cutting through the winter's chill with a hot smoke. A strange animalistic glare met her. She could not discern whether the red hollow was scared of the flames or angered that she had tried to attack it. "Submit!" she cried, thrusting her blade forward. Amaterasu plunged into the hollow's throat, demobilizing the beast within the stroke of a second. With a second motion, she managed to sever the creature's head from its shoulders.

Hisana turned her cheek to the blast that ensued shortly after its defeat. The pressure pierced her, traveling through her wounded body at a high velocity. Disoriented, in pain, and nauseous, Hisana laid on her back for a few long minutes. Trying to collect the parts of her that had shattered on impact, she stared up into the night. A dense grey fog clouded the sky and stars. The smell of sulfur and burnt earth imbued her as she inhaled shallow breaths. _'C'mon,'_ she chanted to herself over and over, hoping that it would motivate her fatigued muscles to snap into position.

'_You will die if you don't stand!'_ Since the more gentle chanting did not seem to inspire her body to move, she quickly moved on to more _catastrophic_ thoughts. _'You will be easy fodder for the predators around these parts!'_ With that, she managed to muster enough energy to roll her body on its side. Creaking and stiff, she pulled herself up, and, with a hand firmly pressed against the wall of the building, she shuffled forward. Her movements were slow and clumsy. The burning in her arm only intensified with each step she took, and it began to itch insatiably. Instinctively, she pressed her shoulder against one of the barrack's walls as her right hand slid under the sleeve of her left arm. Her fingers dug into the flesh, and she glanced down to find that her flesh was streaked. Deep red marks stretched down her arm.

Hisana's eyes widened, and her heart stopped in a cold panic. Immediately, she placed her right hand over the wound, and she applied a healing kido to her arm. The reaction was instant: Her arm regained sensation and the apparent infection diminished.

"Hisana?"

Her gaze slowly trailed up to find Kaien standing a few meters away. "Vice Captain," she murmured in a low tenor.

"You look ill," he said.

She stared up at him. It was hard to maintain eye contact, and she began to wonder whether he was there at all. Opening her eyes, he disappeared. She blinked again, and there he was. Was she really hallucinating? What had happened? Hisana blinked. Her eyes fluttering open and close as she tried to beat back the inky black feeling that resided just behind her vision.

"Vice Captain?" she rasped out before collapsing.

Darkness consumed her. Ate her. And she relented, sinking into it.

. . .

Quiet whispers—fleeting and breathy—scratched at her brain. Suspended in the surreal space between reality and dreams, Hisana plowed forward hoping to breach into the conscious world. Her attempt, however, was met with failure. The surface of reality rejected her, bouncing her deeper into unconsciousness.

'_It feels like there is some strange barrier,'_ she mused as she drifted, weightless.

Hisana could still hear the whispers. Dark words filled her ears and her head. Dark poisonous words.

She could clearly make out the voices of two men. They were familiar in tone, cadence, and dialect. One man spoke in quiet studied bursts. The other man had a thick Rukongai drawl, and he spoke in verse.

"Not all is as it seems."

"The little that it seems is nothing like you think."

"It is against his code; it is against _their _code."

"A house divided against itself."

"I have solved the why."

"…water rises above the blood."

"There is no doubt that he is fond of her. But, that fondness is not enough. There is something else…"

"She is within or without?"

"If she is the carrier, our plans will move forward."

"If she is without?"

"We will learn what happens to it upon death."

Hisana's eyes flew back. A cruel white light bleached her vision, and an unshakable sense of dread roared through her, snapping her muscles into rigid tension. Involuntarily, she sat up, and she looked wildly around the room. "Captain?" she nearly choked out. Saliva caught in her throat, and she gave a soft wet cough into her sleeve. She could hardly believe her eyes.

"The attack demolished the Fourth," Aizen stated matter-of-factly. "What little medical supplies that could be salvaged was brought here."

"The Fifth?" she asked stupidly. After hearing her creaky question, Hisana felt an immense amount of embarrassment. _'Of course the Fifth!'_ she chastised herself. _'Why else would he be here?'_

Aizen smiled gently, seemingly aware of her inner turmoil. "Indeed. Everyone with a molecule of kido skill has been charged with making rounds as the Fourth is undermanned tonight."

"I am well," Hisana said defensively, and in her hurry she slurred her words into a jumbled mess. Endless weeks spent under the Fourth's care had beaten the response into her. It came out so naturally; so quickly.

It took Aizen a few seconds to piece together her meaning. "Good, perhaps you could relieve one of the temporary workers." Aizen paused and quickly enunciated one of his presumptions. "I, of course, am assuming your kido is adequate, seeing as your Zanpakutō is kido-based."

Hisana slid her legs off the mattress, and she scooted her feet into the waraji set by her bedside. "It would be my pleasure, Captain," she said softly.

"Very good work tonight," he stated off-handedly. "Your departure will be a loss."

Hisana's head bobbed up at the last part. While her mouth did not utter a sound, a clear, "What?" radiated on her face.

"You did not know?" he asked, somewhat confused by her expression.

"Know what?" she said, keeping her voice slow and steady.

"A condition of you becoming Lord Kuchiki's bride is that you must take a leave of absence from your post."

Hisana could feel the color drain from her face. Her body flashed cold, and her heart drummed at a hollow staccato rhythm. Captain Aizen may as well have slapped her across the face for the impact of his words were as dramatic and unanticipated. "Of course," she murmured, lowering her head.

"My apologies," he said solemnly, "It was not my place to impart such news."

Hisana shook her head, and managed a broken smile. "Do not worry, Captain. You are only confirming what I already knew in my heart to be the case." She stood stiff and a little heady. Ensuring that her equilibrium was steady, Hisana dipped at the waist. "Where do I go to receive my marching orders from the Fourth?"

"Follow me," he stated gently.

The world felt very strange suddenly. Hisana did her best to drown out the mental noise and the anger that blared within her. Unfortunately, a side-effect of shutting her inner self down was shutting _everything_ out. She plunged herself into the task of healing superficial cuts and bruises. With mechanical movements, she used her skills. She was not the best at healing kido, but her years of experience made up some for her lack of natural talent. It was likely one of the few benefits of learning at the Second—one had to be prepared to adapt at a moment's notice. The Second's soldiers received training in all of the disciplines. No one could ever be sure when or if a field medic would be available in the middle of a stealth operation.

"You will make a very good Lady," a small voice crashed through her carefully constructed mental barriers. Shocked, Hisana glanced down to find a blond-headed boy staring up at her. He had large bright blue eyes and an earnest look on his face.

'_He meant it,'_ she observed, somewhat flattered and flabbergasted that apparently _everyone_ knew. "Thank you," she said softly. "What is your name?" she asked politely as she began wrapping the boy's arm in a white bandage.

"Kira Izuru," he replied with a sort of contemplative expression normally reserved for adults far exceeding his age.

Hisana's lips lengthened into a smile. "You seem awfully young to be a Shinigami," she whispered, eyeing his blue kimono.

He shook his head and grinned. "Some day," he said confidently.

Securing the end of the bandage with a small flesh-colored clip, Hisana gave him a small wink. "Of course. In the meantime, be careful with that arm."

Eyeing the thick wrap enveloping her left arm, he smiled sweetly, "You, too!" The boy politely bowed his gratitude before departing.

A sensation of happiness crested over her as she turned around. The sensation, however, was short-lived when she saw her husband standing in the middle of the hall. A stride behind him was her Vice Captain. Neither male looked particularly happy to see her.

"The entire Seireitei has become a mass grave site, and you don't have the _decency_ to let your Vice Captain know that you have checked in for duty and are well? I think that behavior has a name."

"Insubordination," Byakuya murmured in a low tone.

Hisana shakily scanned the Fifth. Her large eyes darted to and fro as she considered the number of bodies lying scattered around them on beds and gurneys. "My apologies," she said hastily, bowing deeply. "It was _terribly_ inconsiderate."

"Was that sarcasm?" Kaien asked sternly.

"Clearly sarcasm," Byakuya stated deadpan.

Hisana perked back up, revealing an impish grin. "No, Vice Captain. Not at all. I woke up here in the Fifth, and I went to work to help the injured." As she spoke, her gaze shifted from one man to the other. "Now, if either of you are injured, please, sit. If not then follow me."

Byakuya shot Kaien a remote glance.

"Tread lightly," Kaien huffed lightly in her direction before excusing himself.

"They are keeping the injured Thirteenths down the hall, second door on the right," Hisana stated pragmatically before turning her gaze to her husband. "Are you well?" Instantly, her voice dropped ten octaves and became weaker.

Byakuya sat on edge of one of the empty chairs lining the walls. Wordlessly, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing a deep gash running down his forearm. He looked up at her. His eyes were clear and blue, but they were steeled against whatever emotion her presence elicited. Hisana got the distinct impression that he was all business.

Hesitantly, she reached out. Her fingers tenderly brushed around the shape of the gash. It was jagged and heated. Likely, the wound would become infected if not treated. It, however, was not very deep. Hisana bent down, searching the laceration. "How many were there?" she murmured. Her fingertips skated over the edges of the wound. Applying mild pressure, she straightened his arm, keeping it tightly extended with her left hand.

"Many," he replied. His gaze narrowed on her right hand as she emitted a yellow aura.

"What happened?" she whispered. Timidly, her eyes flicked up; her gaze met his.

"Uncertain."

Hisana's lips sloped into a frown, and her gaze returned to his laceration; the wound diminished in size and depth, and the heat pulled toward her hand and away from the injury. A few long moments passed before she determined that her kido could not heal him any further. She reached for a sterilized piece of cloth. Unfolding the cloth, she dipped it into a pool of antiseptic, and she applied it to the laceration—tenderly at first. Reflexively, his skin twitched, and his muscles spasmed upon touch.

Hisana shushed him soothingly before applying greater pressure to his arm. She could almost feel his pain rip through her own arm, and she repressed a shudder. She carefully wiped the laceration, and then disposed of the cloth in a small laundry basket. Without looking, her fingers nimbly plucked another clean cloth and a container of unguent. The balm was thick and clear—like jelly. A few circles in the jelly, and she applied the unguent to his wound. Pressing the clean cloth tightly against his wound, she reached for a compression bandage. With a few flicks of her wrist, the end of a tightly wrapped bandage flipped over. She fingered the edge of the bandage and tugged on it.

"Your head," she observed, training the horror from her voice. Glancing up at him, the abrasion spanning from his temple past his hairline was so noticeable that she chastised herself for her obliviousness. "Are you alright?" she murmured. Her features bent into a look of deep concern.

Byakuya shut his eyes, and, exhaling a deep breath, he nodded his head.

"That must have caused a concussion, at least." She strained her head to get a better look.

"No."

Her brow furrowed as she secured the end of his bandage with a small clip. Once she was certain that the clip held fast, her fingers were in his hair, searching his scalp. "It is very shallow," she said with some relief. "It almost seems like a burn." Engrossed in thought she barely noticed his hand wrapping around her own injured arm.

"What happened?" he said, turning her arm up.

"Oh? That?" She forced a smile and feigned stupidity. "I don't know. I woke up with it bandaged. It doesn't hurt or anything." Her voice trilled like the song of sparrow. The words bled into each other until all that he could discern was a high-pitched tone.

'_Damn, I get so chatty when I get nervous…'_ she chastised herself. And, whatever mask of ignorance that she had tried on was quickly discredited.

He glanced up at her, incredulous. "I see."

A vibrant blush painted her cheeks, and her smile lengthened. A cool uninviting silence slipped between the two. Hisana's gaze dropped to the hardwood floor as she searched for something to say. _'Why is he so quiet? Did I do something?'_

"Forgive me." His soft voice broke the chill, but his eyes remained glued to the floor. "I lost you in the coppice, and then again in the market."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," she began, but he quickly interrupted her.

"I did not protect you."

"I didn't need—"

"…you should take a leave of absence from your duties." His gaze lifted to see her expression.

Hisana's eyes widened to the size of half-dollars. "Lord Kuchiki," she gasped, shaken but not entirely surprised given her conversation only hours prior. "I do not think—"

"It is only a matter of time before the Family would require it. I believe sooner would be best."

Hisana lifted her head. Her brows knitted together, and she pressed her lips together. It felt like he had just handed down a death sentence, and perhaps the analogy was not too far off: Leaving the Gotei 13 would surely mean the death of her career. It would also mean the death of many things in her life. She would no longer be a piece of something large—of something rich and vibrant.

Her heart halted and her stomach dropped. Icy water seemingly replaced her blood, flashing through her and numbing her extremities. She stood, shocked. Her eyes stared out, an unfeeling, uncomprehending gaze. "Of course," she murmured. Her voice was low and mechanical.

Byakuya's features set into a stoic expression. The lines of his face were sharp yet refined—as cold and as blank as a new fallen snow. "I will see to it that your transition is painless." He took her hand in his and held it firmly. The warm of his flesh pierced her cold skin. Prickles of life goosed up her arm, and sliver of heat warmed her heart, urging it to beat once more.

His action was done out of love.

She closed her eyes and inhaled a tremulous breath. The surprise melted from her face. The lines of her countenance smoothed into a look of repose.

His action was done out of _fear_.

Hisana's eyes snapped open, and she lifted her head. _'Why fear?'_ Byakuya Kuchiki did not fear anything. He was a paragon of courage, bordering on the reckless.

Her lips parted as she considered the possibility that he knew more than he revealed. But what? Did he know something about her health that she was not privy to? Was there a threat on her life? Myriad of horrors assailed her mind, needling her.

"The young lovers." The strong collegial voice of Captain Aizen penetrated her thoughts.

Hisana turned to face the captain, and she bowed. "Captain."

Byakuya nodded his head. "Good evening, Captain Aizen," he said politely.

"Hisana has done impressive work, considering her condition."

Hisana lowered her head submissively. Words caught in her chest, but she swallowed them. Instead, she stared unflinchingly at the burnished floorboards.

Aizen patted her head in the manner that a master greets a pet. "I believe the Fourth can spare her. Most of the walking wounded have been discharged." The captain lifted his head; the overhead light glinted in his spectacles, obscuring his eyes as he turned his attention to Byakuya. "You appear weary, Lord Kuchiki. Go seek rest."

"Your concern is appreciated, Captain Aizen," Byakuya stated drily, never taking his eyes from Aizen's hand as it continued to rest on Hisana's head. His serene expression did not break. There was no indicator that he found the action detestable.

Hisana, however, was not so benighted. His gaze said everything: He was not pleased.

Likely, Aizen realized that he had offended the young Kuchiki Lord. But, his face did not betray him if that were the case. Instead, he stared at Byakuya for a few long breaths. The captain's eyes were unreadable—masked by the bright light catching in his lenses.

Hisana raised her head. Searchingly, her gaze trailed up to Aizen's face. It was strange. Was there a power-play that she was unaware of? Was the captain unaware of her husband's mood? She blinked, recalling something that she had come to believe over time—that men in power were rarely aware of the feelings of those of lower status where doing so did not directly benefit their aims and ambitions. Byakuya could be particularly indifferent and callous to the plight of the lowly souls lingering in the outermost districts. She wondered if Aizen, a man who had been so frequently characterized as scholarly and noble-minded, failed short of such praise. Perhaps he was no different; perhaps he fancied himself a cut above everyone else.

Hisana blinked. Her tangled thoughts scattered the moment she felt the pressure subside from her head. She bowed politely in Aizen's direction. "Thank you, Captain. For all that you have done tonight."

He smiled. It was a small smile; the type that secrets often lurked behind. He lifted his gaze, and his lips twitched as if he were about to give his parting words. Gin Ichimaru, however, interrupted him. The Vice Captain stood ever well and ever eldritch.

"Yes, Vice Captain?" Aizen said impassively.

Gin lifted his brows, and, with his low Rukongai drawl, he spoke: "There has been a disturbance in the Eastern 23rd that requires our attention."

Aizen threw Ichimaru a veiled sidelong glance before turning back to the couple. "Good evening," he said, giving a shallow bow before turning on his heels. The captain and his vice captain disappeared down the hallway and into a small ancillary chamber.

"Come," Byakuya stated, standing.

The journey to the Kuchiki estate was taken in silence. A mutual sort of silence. Dawn simmered below the horizon, lighting the sky a pale lavender shade. Hisana drew the door for Byakuya, and he stepped across the threshold to his quarters with silent footfalls. The couple fell into a quiet routine. Words were discarded for lingering looks and tender caresses.

Hisana's thin fingers slid under the collar of his white shitagi undergarment. The fabric, stiff with sweat and blood, gave away with only some ado, sliding down his muscular shoulders and pooling in the bend of his arms. "Lord Byakuya," she gasped. Deep violent bruises marked his right shoulder and his lower quadrant. Cool fingertips fluttered over the violet patches of broken blood vessels. "Please, rest," she murmured, directing him to a small sitting mat. His body relented against her gentle prodding.

Without hesitance, she began applying kido. "Are you sure you are well, Lord Kuchiki?" she asked, tucking her hands into her lap once she was satisfied with her application.

He shrugged off his shitagi and glimpsed her reflection in the mirror. "I am well."

Hisana perked up. There was something awry with his response. The sound of his voice was contemplative, almost somber. What was he thinking? Shoving her questions and worry to the back of her thoughts, she glanced around the room for a simple distraction. Something—_anything_—to break the sullen darkness that blanketed the room.

Instinctively, her fingers climbed up and curled in his dark locks. A small smile split her lips. "Your hair has grown," she said, tugging on the tresses caught between her fingers.

Byakuya tilted his head toward the sensation of the tug, and he glimpsed her. "It needs cut," he murmured.

"Yeah, these ends look awfully damaged," she teased. "Maybe some dye, too," she said pulling at a silvery strand, "you are going grey."

Byakuya turned to her somewhat perturbed by the thought.

Hisana giggled and shook her head. His vanity never ceased to amuse her. He hid it well, mostly. But, he was still prone to bouts of vulnerability. "Come with me," she said, standing and extending her hand. "I will trim your hair."

Byakuya looked somewhat uncertain.

Hisana could not hold back the tickle of laughter at his expression. "I promise. I will do an adequate job on your precious locks."

"Adequate?" he parroted back at her—concern dripping off that single word.

She chuckled. "C'mon," she pleaded, pulling him along.

With quiet hands and lips, she washed his hair, and gently combed out any knots. She led him back to the sitting mat. Holding a pair of small metal scissors, she cocked her head to the side and examined him. Her lips pulled to the side as she considered the lighting. "Hmm," she hummed before throwing the door to the garden open.

Byakuya's eyes widened at the act. While the nascent morning sunrays flooded the room, so did the winter's icy wind. Quickly, he combated the snowy chill by pulling his robes tightly against his body. It was no use, however, as his skin and hair were still damp from the bath that she had prepared for him. Ever a gentleman, he did not speak a word.

Hisana's narrow-minded focus seemingly granted her immunity from the frigid temperature for she went to work, methodically snipping away the fraying ends of his hair. She was careful to keep the lines straight and aesthetically pleasing. What felt like to eternity to Byakuya, but in actuality was only a dozen minutes, passed. Slow and cold. When she finished, she handed him a small hand mirror. "See!"

Cringing from both cold and horror, he opened his eyes. His horror alleviated when he saw the result. "Perfectly adequate," he stated evenly.

Hisana shut the door, but, when she turned, she seemed somewhat deflated by his choice of words. Furrowed brow and pursed lips quickly melted when she realized that he was teasing her. She gave a long disapproving shake of her head. "Is that anyway to treat your hair stylist?" she said playfully.

He extended his hand to her, and, the moment she placed her hand in his, he pulled her down. "It is late," he murmured.

"It is _early_," she retorted, grinning up at him.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth. It was tender but searching. Shallow physically, but, emotionally, the kiss moved her deeply.

She smiled up at him when he broke away. Cold air skated across her now moistened lips, and a pink blush colored her pale cheeks. "What are you afraid of, Lord Byakuya?" Her blue eyes held his gaze. Gone was the playful glint and feigned indignation. Her eyes were softer, more serious.

For a moment, he paused, considering whether the question was purely theoretical or if there was a motive behind her words. His lips parted in anticipation for a response but snapped shut. The sentiments were first too fresh to acknowledge and then too hard to speak. "Death," he said at length.

Hisana blinked. Her eyelids fluttered as if something had caught in her eyes. The response had taken her aback. "That is not true," she said, finding her voice. She reached up and caressed the side of his cheek, pushing back a stray stand of hair. "You should see the way you look in battle. So fearless. And there is this light in your eyes. A light that does not shine in a man's eyes who fears death. You are prepared to end it all in battle if need be."

A small almost imperceptible smile lengthened his lips. "I never said I was afraid of _my_ death."

Hisana's eyes widened. Realization hit her hard, plucking a chord in her heart—a painful _deep_ chord. Her eyes lowered under furrowed brows. "Your request then…" she trailed off.

"I realize that I am ask–," he began, but she silenced him with a kiss.

She did not want to think of death—metaphorical or literal. There had been so much death that night. Whole units perished during the attack. Portions of Seireitei had been demolished. She did not want to think on it any further. And, with a blind eye to death, she deepened her kiss.

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**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!


	28. Winter

**Chapter 27: Winter **

Sleep did not fall lightly or at all over the pair. A few gentle moments passed in lieu of rest before duty pulled them from the warmth of the estate and into the brutal winter. Dressed in layers of thick fabric, Hisana waddled through the ice and snow.

"Fine time for a snow storm," she groused to herself. Her wiry legs lengthened their stride, contending with both the deep white powder and her tightly wrapped robes. Snow fell in heavy blankets, reducing her field of vision to only a few meters in front of her. Lucky that her feet knew the path well. Even luckier that her companion proved to be an effective crutch.

"Are you sure you feel well enough?" Byakuya asked. His gaze was soft and probing.

'_The snow affords us some privacy,'_ she noted to herself. Instinct, however, was a stubborn force, and she surveyed the area for prying eyes. None could be seen. Likely, no one was roaming so far into the wild that surrounded the estate.

"I am," she responded belatedly. She was tired. Her muscles creaked, and a thin patina of snow dusted her hair. She elevated her gaze, and tilted her head to the side. Bright eyes greeted his more somber look. "It is cold," she teased.

A small half-smile tugged at the side of his lips. "It is."

"I hate the snow," she murmured, shifting deeper into her robes for warmth.

Byakuya's brows lifted. "A fire wielder dislikes the cold?" The question was purely rhetorical, and it provoked a small giggle from her.

"Who would've thought?" she retorted, winking at him. "And you?" Hisana's gaze flicked up into the sheets of snow fluttering down on them. It was beautiful—she could not help but think. But beauty only went so far…

Byakuya followed her look. His eyes narrowed as he considered her question. Whether he realized it or not, the corners of his mouth dipped into a frown, and the lines of face hardened. "It is…" he began, not quite finding the appropriate word to capture his ambivalence.

"Pretty awful?" she said slyly, glimpsing him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes widened, but he seemed unconvinced. "_First_," she began, inhaling a deep breath as she prepared her argument, "it is cold _and_ wet _and_ sort of solid, which is a particularly dangerous combination: It gets everywhere, biting your flesh and marking your skin. And then it dampens your clothes and hair, which makes you even _more_ cold. _Second_, it is messy. So very messy! _Third_, when it melts, it gets even _messier_! _Fourth_, in large amounts, it gets hard to navigate. _Fifth_, it can be used as a _weapon_." She was about to continue with her 50-reasons-I-hate-snow-and-you-should-too _thesis_ when she descried his expression. He was watching her intently—half-amused and half-mortified that she had put so much thought into rationalizing her hatred of snow—and he smiled. A pure, genuine smile. The kind of smile that elicits a companion smile. So, with chapped lips ready to belt out another 45 reasons, Hisana shut her mouth and smiled in kind.

"That was a compelling argument," he stated deadpan, but she knew he was teasing her. He played the compliment too straight.

"I wrote a haiku once," she said, grinning.

His brows snapped up in response. "About _snow_?" He was equal parts confused and impressed that her dislike ran so _deep_.

"No, about all of the things that I could be doing if it were not _cold_ and _snowing_."

"I will have to read it sometime."

Her lips split into a toothy grin. "It isn't very good."

He shook his head. "Inconceivable," he said drolly before looking up to see the surroundings change suddenly and drastically. Silence fell heavy over the two of them as they evaluated the damage dealt to the city.

"I cannot believe it," she whispered more so to herself than to Byakuya.

It looked ghostly.

The once vibrant marketplace was _gone_. Simply demolished. Only debris—wood, nails, scraps of metal—served as solemn reminders of what once was. Remnants blackened the snow and the grimy cobblestone. Hisana's footfalls became more tentative as she noted the slick glisten of the stones. The Fourth had salted the streets, and, while the salt melted the snow, the water made the cobblestones slippery and treacherous to navigate.

"Careful," Byakuya murmured as he caught Hisana's arm before she slid across a wet patch of ice.

Embarrassed, she glanced up at him with large bashful eyes. "Another thing that I hate about snow."

He responded with a sympathetic nod of his head. "Naturally."

"Vice Captain _pro tempore_," a loud booming voice crashed over them, drawing both sets of eyes toward the man's frantic intonations.

Byakuya tilted his head up and to the side as he regarded the Shinigami standing before them. He was a young man with sandy-colored hair and bright red cheeks. In his excitement, he heaved a few breaths before bowing several times. "Your skills are requested at the Sixth," the man said with clipped but eager words.

Byakuya nodded in reply. "Is the matter dire?"

The youthful Shinigami rose. His eyes widened, and his expression fell flat. Confusion was the likely culprit. "Ugh," he muttered, staring up and to the left. "I don't recall." He paused, thoughtfully. "_I think so?_"

Byakuya watched the man's labored intellect with a blank stare. Hisana could tell that the subordinate's lack of insight wore on Byakuya's nerves. "Ten thousand years," she said sweetly, bowing.

Byakuya returned her gesture. "Ten thousand," he repeated upon straightening, but he hesitated, waiting for her gaze to meet his before he departed.

Hisana obliged with a small smile, and she gave a slight, almost imperceptible, bow of her head. He was gone in a flash. Only the smell of burnt earth and sakura lingered on the icy breeze in his wake.

She snorted a breath through her nose, which quickly transformed into a small vapor trail when it hit the arctic air. Her gaze lingered on the white wisp as she tucked a stray tress of hair behind her ear. She hated goodbyes in times of woe. While she was confident in Byakuya's skill, she was ever wary that they were mere children quarreling on a thin line.

Somberly, she traced the path to the Thirteenth. With each bend, her heart deflated at the terrain. Landmarks that she once loved to peer inside of as she passed were leveled. Splinters of wood and iron marked their graves. When she passed red snow, she paused and gave a short prayer before continuing. She had spared many prayers and much heartache before she reached her division. Seemingly untouched, the Thirteenth stood its usual self. Hardly a tile was cracked.

Hisana shook her head in disbelief. Amid the devastation, at least one of the divisions weathered the storm. She bowed her head out of gratitude before slipping through the gates. No guard manned the ingress. There was no time for such a luxury. Instead, the Thirteenth's doors stood wide open, embracing those who wished to enter.

"Miss Hisana!" The voice unmistakably belonged to Kotetsu.

"Good morning," Hisana responded, bowing politely.

"We need help!" Before Hisana had a chance to respond, Kotetsu stuffed the handle of a snow shovel into her hands. "The Fourth is sending over some supplies, but as you can see there are _mounds_ of snow. We need to clear it!"

Hisana glanced around to see that she was indeed dangerously close to stepping into a bank of snow. Apparently, the street cleaners had plowed the main streets and threw down a generous application of salt. The Thirteenth (and likely other divisions) had not been given the same treatment.

"The Fourth?" Hisana asked softly. She knew the division had set up some units in the Fifth, but the Thirteenth seemed like a long trek from the Fourth.

"The Fourth was destroyed during last night's events. The Fifth, Ninth, and Thirteenth are the only divisions that remain fully functional, and there are _a lot_ of wounded. More are discovered each hour."

"And the Sixth?" Hisana asked. Her voice broke, betraying her concern.

Kotetsu's expression softened upon realizing why Hisana seemed worried. "Power outage."

Hisana exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh, good."

"The First has become the War Room, and the Second is keeping all suspects."

Hisana shook her head—a quiet appeal that she did not need to know the status of _all_ the divisions. "Thank you, Kotetsu." She bowed her head before plunging the shovel's blade into the powdery snow. "Clear the path to the front?" she asked, discarding the snow into what was once green grass.

"Clear the entire walkway."

Hisana forced a small smile and lowered her head dutifully. _'I hate winter_._'_

The repetitive labor, however, warmed her. An hour into clearing the path, she wiped sweat from her brow. Staring into the sky, she relished the sweet flecks of snow that collected against her cheeks. Once the chill became biting, she glanced down to find a thin dusting of white begin to cover over her hard work. Her heart sank a little, and she pursed her lips in dismay. Kotetsu had been dilatory with the salt.

"The future Lady of the House of Kuchiki shoveling snow? How delightful!"

The words broke her string of silent curses. Her head snapped up. Judging by the ironic inflection, she was half-expecting Gin Ichimaru to materialize in front of her. But, the voice was too warm, too casual, too inviting for it to be Ichimaru. Then, it hit her like a ton of bricks. Wide-eyed and filled with shock, she stared with mouth agape. Words, however, failed her.

"Such a humanitarian," he said with a friendly grin.

"Captain Kyōraku," she said softly mid-bow, "it is my pleasure."

He nodded his head in her direction before turning to a small retinue of his subordinates. A few of his men carried wounded comrades up the path on stretchers. Hisana watched, praying that they did not slip on the ice that she had not yet managed to clear. "My condolences," she murmured solemnly.

"They aren't dead _yet_," he said drily.

Her eyes widened. "My apologies."

A small wry smile creased his face. "Ah, those boys will be fine." He was confident in his appraisal.

Out of great admiration, she glimpsed him with fleeting looks. She nodded her head slightly. Quietly, she hoped that she would not say anything clumsy or stupid. He was one of the most tenured captains in the ranks, and he was a dear friend to Ukitake.

"I saw you praying for the fallen outside the Eighth," he stated soberly.

Hisana elevated her head. Her troubled stare met his. Silence, heavy and abject, slipped between them. Politely, she bowed, having perceived that his reason for traveling to the Thirteenth was to confer with her captain.

"Why are you out here?" he said, taking a few long strides forward. "Aren't you skilled in kido?"

Hisana's countenance turned pallor, and her jaw dropped as did her heart. Reading her dumbstruck expression, he shot her a knowing sidelong glance. "Your secrets are no longer yours to know," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Come." He gave a small wave of his arm. "You shouldn't be out here clearing snow—especially _these_ dreadful wandering paths."

"Yes, Captain," she said obediently.

Upon entering the warm halls of the Thirteenth, Hisana railed against the strong odor of infection. Bodies were everywhere. There was not enough space. Frantic, she surveyed the rooms. Vexation flashed across her features. "Is something the matter?" he asked, somewhat amused by her expression.

"Captain, are the Fifth and Ninth this full?"

He nodded his head and waited patiently for her next response. If she had not rejected the idea at first blush, she could have sworn that he was anticipating what came next, perhaps planning for it: "I have an idea," she said with a buoyant smile.

. . . .

Byakuya returned to the manner late that night. While he had been called away on duty for the entire day, he knew what awaited him at his manor. Messages of various types littered his desk at the Sixth. Some of the missives were pleading; others were angry. He had read them with a passing gaze. "Hisana," he murmured under his breath as he entered the front gate.

A frenzy of activity greeted him at the door. Nurses, physicians, Shinigami, servants, and private medical workers scurried every which way. For once in his life, he entered the manor, and no one regarded his presence. In fact, he was perfectly ignored.

Quietly, he wound his way to where his wife was sitting with a small child. The child sat propped up on several overstuffed cushions. A large white bandage wrapped the child's head, covering one of his eyes. He grasped Hisana's hand, and he watched her with a pained expression. Hisana's eyes flickered across the room to Byakuya. She acknowledged him with a small nod before returning to the storybook balanced on her lap.

The boy followed her look with his one good eye. The reaction was instant. His face went white, and he immediately tried to bow. "Lord Kuchiki," he rasped out.

"Shh," Hisana shushed, pressing the boy back against the cushions. Gently, she examined the tubes tethering him to the monitoring devices. Sure that the sudden movement had not disturbed the medical equipment, she glanced up at Byakuya.

"It is such an honor, Lord Kuchiki. My family," he began, but a coughing fit stole his words.

Quietly, Byakuya took a seat next to his wife. He strained his head to get a glimpse of the title of the book resting in her lap. Hisana, however, instinctively handed Byakuya the book as she leaned over to soothe the sick boy.

"Hanasakajijii," he noted softly as he scanned the page. He leafed through a few pages, marking where Hisana had left off. Slowly but surely, he recalled the story. A maid of some stripe had read it to him as a boy. He was never fond of the story; although, he had little love for fiction generally.

"Are you feeling a little better?" Hisana asked softly.

Calming, the boy nodded his head before turning his attention back to Byakuya. A look of awe and amazement painted his small face. Hisana watched him with a knowing glance. "If it would not be too much trouble, Lord Kuchiki, would you finish the story?"

Byakuya felt somewhat taken aback by the request. He had never read a story to a child before. Did that require some special skill? If it did, he certainly did not possess it for he had been spared the company of children as the only child. Perplexed, he glanced down at Hisana. She watched him wide-eyed and with a pleasant look on her face. She would truly be his undoing, he complained to himself. He responded, however, by reciting a line from the story.

Hisana's smile lengthened.

The boy watched Byakuya for as long as his tired eyes would allow. A deep slumber smoothed out the pain from his face. It was not long after that the machines began to simultaneously crash. Hisana stood. A quiet resolve came over her as she waited for the boy to flatline. A look of sorrow marked her face as she noted the time of death before shutting the machines off. She paused for a moment with head bent as she gave a silent prayer.

"You knew he was dying?" Byakuya asked impassively.

She opened her eyes. A deep sadness resided within the depths of her as she met his gaze. He could almost _feel_ her immense melancholy. "Yes," she whispered, reaching for the privacy curtain. With a sharp tug, she pulled the cloth back. Before stepping forward, she turned and reached for his hand.

Inhaling a deep breath, he closed the book and placed it in her seat before taking her hand. Her touch was cool. She had been anxious, waiting with the boy. He could not blame her. Watching someone die, even someone whose ties were tenuous, was an undertaking.

"The elders are quite unhappy with me," she said, swallowing her grief.

"I am aware," he said, staring down at her somewhat amused.

Hisana pressed her lips together, and her large eyes glanced up at him. She held back her tears well, he noted. In fact, had he not been in the room, he would not have detected her deep melancholy on first glance. This observation, however, troubled him.

"I could not care less," he said with a conciliatory look. Turning his ancestral manor into a temporary infirmary was a bold move, but it was not one without precedence…

* * *

**AN: **Likely taking a break from this story for a while. Thanks to all who read!


	29. Shadows of the Moon

**Chapter 28: Shadows of the Moon**

Madness dragged them from their places nestled in the manor's warmth into the cold tenebrous night. Sleep eluded them. It was the house's _fault_, after all. The house was awake, _alive_, full of kinetic energy—an energy that Byakuya had never encountered before in his halls.

Shinigami of every stripe and denomination crossed the burnished hardwood. Howls—tearful, joyful, and miserable—echoed unrestrained down each corridor. Nurses, orderlies, and physicians called orders in commanding intonations; intonations that pierced their subordinates' hearts and the manor's thin rice paper all the same.

The frantic energy ricocheting off every wall and every floorboard, however, drained Hisana. Exhaustion gnashed at her nerves, turned her muscles to jelly, and dimmed her mind. Exhaustion _sank _her. Her fingers could not tie another bandage; her lips could not muster another assuaging smile; and her hands could not summon another healing spell. The sensitive skin of her palms began to crack and bleed. The muscles around her lips grew sore from overuse. Her poor spent mind was beginning to shut down, drowning out the grief, the noise, and the directions.

She _felt _depleted as if she was running off the fumes of past motivation. Despite her intense weariness, she reached for another bandage, another smile, another spell, and she would have continued if it had not been for Byakuya. He could not abide the sight of her bleeding flesh and heavy eyes.

Smoothly, he took her hand in his, leading her away from the makeshift relief station under a pretense that he needed her assistance. He did not need her assistance, and she was all too keenly aware of this when she trailed behind him. She did not speak a word when he threw back the door, allowing the dark night to enter the manor. Her lips did not question his intentions when he urged her into the twilight.

He turned to her, moonbeams catching and dancing in his raven locks, and he reached out his hand. The silent gestured beckoned her, and she accepted without hesitation. Blind trust hushed the worriment that began to clamor in her head. He was her stalwart protector. Nothing could harm her when he was near. Fear fell from her shoulders and bled from her heart as she stepped across the threshold.

_It was beautiful._

Snow twinkled in the moonlight like flecks of sapphires catching flame. A million snowflakes blanketed the night; they drifted and danced on a wandering wind, and, yet, despite their multitude, she never once felt the cold sting of their icy breath against her cheek.

_It was beautiful._

She was lost—lost in the midnight blue. All she could see was the snow, the moon, and the ice. All she could feel was a warm sensation of happiness beating upon her heart. Her contentment flowed eagerly through her veins and hummed a happy tune in her chest.

Byakuya stopped once they neared the diverted stream that she had so often admired outside his bedroom. Frozen. Ice as clear as glass impeded the stream's gentle rhythm. It no longer flowed at its chimerical but gentle pace. It no longer sang its loud babbling song. It had transformed completely, and its transformation was _beautiful_.

Silently, she stood at his side and watched him.

He stared up into the sky. The moonlight illuminated his features, casting him in a lovely shade of silver. He loved the night, the stars, and the thick evening air. He craved it, sought it out with reckless abandon, and basked in its radiant glow.

Hisana smiled at the peaceful expression that he only ever dared to don in the private hours. Veiled in shadow, she knew he spoke secrets into the night, and she often wondered what it was that he could only utter to the stars. What feelings could he only think or express in the inky solitude? What words failed him under the watchful eyes of his family, his subordinates, or his peers? What burdens did he wish to spare her?

Feeling the burn of her lingering gaze, he shifted slightly, just enough to glimpse her pensive eyes staring back at him. A question shone brightly on her face, but her lips went still. She would not ask it. It was too obvious, too imperfect, and she was afraid that he would find her voice vulgar, cutting through the sweet tranquility that he shared with her and only her.

Inhaling a long uneasy breath, he shut his eyes, "If this were the last night," he began, lifting his chin and returning his gaze to the moon, "I would want you to be by my side." He quickly glanced down at her, betraying his hesitance at speaking with such intimacy.

A soothing smile lifted the corners of her lips, and her eyes flickered to the firmament. It was beautiful—the night, the sky, and his heart. "I would not want to be anywhere else."

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss began sweetly. The simple pleasure of his warm supple mouth against hers had urged her eyes shut. A velvety dark sensation curled around her, sinking in through her skin and soothing her ragged soul. The chaste kiss, however, morphed into something more. Byakuya bent her head back. His fingers, chilled from the winter, knotted in her hair, urging her to submit as he nudged his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like fragrant jasmine tea and exotic spices. She relished the feeling as he deepened the kiss. Feeling intoxicated, she let go.

"Aw! How romantic!" The voice, undeniably masculine and familiar, cut through the couple's sweet release like a sharpened dagger through finely spun silk. "Such a storybook romance!" he practically swooned with joy.

Both Byakuya and Hisana snapped around to find the Captain of the Eighth standing at the door to the manor. The warm yellow light caught in his hair and robes, outlining him in a golden hue. He smiled broadly at them.

While his presence was unwanted, it was _expected_. Who neither Hisana nor Byakuya anticipated seeing was Captain Ukitake. Yet there he was, standing at Kyōraku's side and gushing with the same level of excitement.

"Don't mind us," Kyōraku called eagerly, "we're just watching. Continue!"

"How embarrassing," Byakuya muttered under his breath as he sent a disapproving look their way.

"My Captain is a voyeur?" Hisana murmured hurriedly to herself. The prospect elicited an ironic sense of _horror_, but his smiling face seemed harmless. In fact, both Ukitake and Kyoraku were beaming as if they were witnessing some strange natural phenomena that only occurred a few times over the span of a life.

Hisana turned to Byakuya. With a nod of her head, they were off. Only the smell of scorched earth remained in their wake.

Byakuya took the lead; his steely grip on her hand never relented. He tethered her. And, briefly, she considered all the ways he kept her grounded. More ways than one, she thought to herself.

The destination? Hisana knew it well. It was a small inn on the outside of the First District. No questions. No judgment. The proprietor only required money in exchange for lodging.

Sliding back the door, Byakuya was the first to enter the quaint cabin. It was adequate. A small fire, rumbling in the stone fireplace, radiated a comfortable warmth across the rickety wooden floorboards.

Hisana moved soundlessly across the floor, taking care to miss the squeaky boards. Byakuya, however, was less successful as he stepped on a particularly whiney segment of wood. Hisana turned reflexively and shot him a gentle grin as she pulled out the futon. "I assumed," she murmured, unsure of what to make of his look. His usual austerity had broken, but his expression was no less inscrutable.

_Regret?_ She wondered. Did he regret bringing her to the small cabin in the middle of the desolate forest? Or, did he regret _her_? Knowing her? Marrying her? She shook upon considering the latter. The question flew into her mind with greater frequency, greater urgency as the wedding preparations began to fill the thoughts and minds of the Kuchiki elders. Hisana had no doubt that the family kept Byakuya abreast of every niggling _development_.

"Is milord well?" she asked. Her words were shy and her eyes fell to the floor.

She was bracing herself. He could see it in her face. He could see it in the way tension, sudden but loud, pulled her milky skin taughter than usual. Her eyes darkened. Her brows knitted together. Darkness pooled around her features despite the fire's effulgent light playing across her countenance.

Was she displeased? Sometimes she could be so difficult to read. She hid herself behind well-constructed smiles and large imploring eyes. Never a word of difficulty aired from her lips. Never a tear shed since she promised to be his wife. She played the role of a doting spouse well. Too well. And, he was afraid that she had lost herself in the title, in the expectation, in the role.

"Hisana," he murmured. Silently, he neared her. His long, black shadow, trailed across her, painting her pale skin a dark shade of grey.

His touch brushed against her cheek. Tenderly, he cupped her face in his hand. "Look at me," he said. His voice was soft but sensual; it filled her ears, drawing her gaze up.

His eyes were unreadable. Some strange emotion reflected in their depths. What, exactly, she was unsure. "Lord Kuchiki," she replied in a low husky drawl.

He lowered his head, and he kissed her. The passion had diminished. It was softer then. His lips were searching, but not demanding. He explored her jawline with tender fluttery kisses before tracing a line to her neck. His fingers, lissome and deft, unknotted her many ties. His warmth unlocked her many restraints.

Feeling him pull away to loosen his clothes, she immediately reached up. Her fingers tangled in the slack fabric of his robes. A quick yank, and he indulged her unspoken request. His body was fast against hers. His mouth was moist and eager, and she responded to each and every kiss. Her body arched up, refusing to break contact with his. Her breathing quickened, and her heart raced in her chest. All she wanted was his nearness—to feel his warmth, to bury her hands in his hair, to let the hell of days past fall away.

He was happy to oblige.

. . . .

Hisana was the first to rouse from their warm bed. Carefully—very carefully—she wiggled free from under his arms and slid off the futon. The dawn had yet to break, and she, despite her incredible weariness, had to leave. She had a meeting with one of the Kuchiki elders.

Shrugging on her Shihakushō, Hisana leaned down low and planted a sweet kiss on Byakuya's head. "Be careful," she whispered as she always did before leaving his slumbering body.

When she reached the manor, Sheh eagerly awaited her arrival. "She is waiting," he said in a hushed frantic voice.

"She's _early_," Hisana grumbled. Her stride lengthened until she felt the burn of her muscles as they extended too far past their natural range-of-motion.

"She is _always early,_" he said drily. Hisana winced at his tone. Sheh had told her about the woman's predilections, and she had _forgotten_. "We must get you dressed in an appropriate attire," he said, diverting her path to her quarters.

"What?" she cried in a soft protest. "What's wrong with my uniform?" If it was good enough for the Gotei 13, it should be good enough for _anyone_.

Sheh cocked his head to the side, and his eyes, usually so alert and intelligent, went blank. His expression seemingly begged the question, _'What is right with it?'_

Hisana frowned and flicked her gaze to the adjacent wall. "Alright," she sighed. If she was going to subject herself to one of Sheh's quickie makeovers, she was going to make her dissatisfaction _loud _and _clear_.

"Where is Lord Kuchiki?" Sheh asked as he doused Hisana in some horrible stinging vapor spray. He alleged that it was to keep her hair in place, but she was beginning to have her doubts.

Coughing through the sticky cloud, Hisana pulled away from the servant's iron grasp. "He's sleeping."

Sheh's brow bent. "Where?" Clearly, Byakuya was not sleeping at the manor. His room was empty, and his bed linens were pristine and crisp.

Hisana pressed her lips together and bit down. Her eyes flashed a coy expression.

Sheh shook his head and smiled. "No matter," he sighed.

After a few final changes to her obi, he ushered her from the room to the parlor. In the usual manner, she kneeled before the door and rapped her knuckle lightly against the wooden frame. It still amazed Hisana how much she had _retained _from years of etiquette training and from having social protocols beaten into her.

Once she properly seated, Hisana lifted her head.

"You are an old soul," the Kuchiki noblewoman stated matter-of-factly. It was (Great) Aunt Mai, Ginrei's sister and the Keeper of the Finances. Age creased her face, pulled the color from her hair, and clouded her grey eyes. She was a stern woman, one who had weathered many battles and knew where all the bodies had been buried. Perhaps she had buried a number of those bodies herself. It was a distinct possibility. Her eyes _convinced _Hisana that nothing would shake the clan's stranglehold on the other, lesser noble houses. Hisana, certainly, would not stand in their way. She was a mere _obstacle_ for the time being.

Hisana cast a tired gaze into her tea. Steam, thin and wispy, rose from her cup; its movements captured her attention for a few beats. Tiredness stung her eyes, nearly blinding her. She could almost feel them _swell_ with sleep. With each blink, she batted away the warm silky darkness of slumber lingering just below. Yet, despite the stinging of eyes and the temptation of sleep, she turned her gaze to her companion.

'_Damn, my eyes burn when I move them_,' she grumbled to herself distractedly.

So, her concentration was tenuous.

Distractions assailed her weary mind on all fronts. She batted those back, as well, with each blink. _'Where was I?'_ she asked herself, feeling her eyelids droop shut. _'Yes, Aunt Mai_.'

The realization that she was being such a _poor_ host dawned on her. There she was mid-interview for something she already had obtained—wifehood—and she had _completely_ forgotten about the ranked woman sitting perfect seiza in front of her.

"Many apologies. But, come again?" she asked. The words tingled at her throat on the way out, and she shivered imperceptibly from the discomfort. _'Great, I have a sore throat, too!'_

"You are an old soul," Aunt Mai repeated.

Hisana stared at the woman, dumbstruck. She was dumbstruck not because she did not comprehend the woman's meaning—of course, she comprehended the words. She was dumbstruck merely because she was concentrating on the feeling of her throat and its soreness, and her default I-am-listening-but-not-really face was merely that of a dumbstruck person. "I am?" she responded belatedly. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to clear her mental haze. _'What does that even mean?'_ she wondered, feeling her thoughts begin to speed up until they darted every which way in her mind.

"Do not question my observation, _girl_. I know these things."

The word, "girl," slapped Hisana across the face with the force of a freshly snapped bullwhip to the cheek. _Girl_ was what you called a petulant child, not the future Lady of a Noble House. (Or, current Lady if you wanted to be technical.)

"Well, that sounds like a very _unique_ gift." Hisana cringed inwardly at her choice of modifier. It came off snarky, too snarky. Perhaps, she had unconsciously intended to be impertinent. She had little affection for the Kuchiki nobles, but she knew this was important to Byakuya. Or, at least, she _hoped_ it was important to him…

"It is," the woman stated, raising her head and preening.

Apparently, her ego was impenetrable. _'Good to know_,' Hisana mused to herself, trying her level best to keep her eyes open. "I don't have that skill," she managed through a partially eclipsed yawn. An impish smile tugged a corner of her mouth upward, and she cocked a brow.

"It is a refined type of gift. Of course, a ruffian, such as yourself, would not have honed such a talent."

Hisana quickly pressed her lips together to stifle the chuckle that expanded in her chest. Usually, she would have found such a comment hurtful. But, exhaustion had stripped away her sense of propriety. "_Of course_."

"But your soul is an old one. Tell me, when were you born?"

"January," Hisana said, cringing a little on the inside. If she were truly from Rukongai, how would she know? She would have _no idea _how old her spirit was because she would have no idea how many life cycles she had spent between the World of the Living and Soul Society. Were all court women _this_ benighted?

"See, that makes perfect sense because those born in January are ending their life cycles."

Absently, Hisana reached for her small cast iron teacup. Her thin fingers wrapped around the cup. For a moment, she relished the prickles of pain from the hot iron. Its heat warmed her fingers numbed by the winter's chill. Nothing could keep the chill out, she sighed to herself. "I didn't know that," she said after a few painfully long beats of silence. '_What does that have to do with anything?'_ she wondered captiously in her head. Taking another sip of tea, Hisana's gaze settled on the noblewoman. She studied Byakuya's aunt thoughtfully, or, at least, she tried to appear thoughtful. Her actual thoughts whorled around like cherry blossoms scattering on a thin spring breeze.

"Yes," the woman stated, firmly.

A little _too firmly_ for Hisana's liking.

Hisana tilted her head to the side. Again she wondered, _'What is this woman driving at? Does she think I will die soon? "Ending their life cycles…" That sounds vaguely threatening. Is the Family plotting my demise?' _ Reflexively, Hisana's eyes drifted to the tea in her cup. _'Now you are being ridiculous!'_ her inner pragmatist exclaimed. All the same, however, she set the teacup on its saucer and refused to touch it. "Oh," she said, feigning a smile and a look of obedience. "Byakuya was born in January." Inwardly, she thought, _'Does that mean his life cycle is coming to an end? Or just mine?'_ The thought stunned her, and her heart fluttered in her chest. For some reason, the thought of his death or anyone's complicity involving his death pierced her more than the thought of her own.

"Yes. He is an old soul as well. All nobles are old souls."

Hisana's brows rose. "I didn't know that." She left off the accompanying thought of, "I think that sounds fictional. Wouldn't they actually be _new _souls since they were _created _in Seireitei and, therefore, have experienced _no _life cycles?" She kept these thoughts (and many more) to herself.

"Of course not. As we have already established: You. Are. A. Ruffian."

Hisana's gaze trailed to the side, and a knowing grin tugged at a corner of her mouth. "An _old _ruffian," she quipped.

"Indeed," his aunt said, raising her cup to her mouth. It seemed so natural to her—the strange logic, the delicate etiquette, the vitriolic remarks spoken with such soft looks and even lovelier words.

Hisana watched the woman cautiously. It would _never _be so effortless for her. She was born into this world, but it had been so long ago that it felt like a lifetime had passed since she felt its welcoming embrace. It felt like a memory that she had _forgotten_, or, a memory that she was in the process of _forgetting_. She had shed that skin many long, harsh years ago. She was Hisana the Peasant. Even if she was crowned Lady Kuchiki, she would never be anything other than peasant in the Family's eyes. She was an ugly stain.

She was anathema.

Aunt Mai placed her cup down with an easy grace, and she lifted her head slightly. For the first time during the hour-long meeting, Aunt Mai's piercing blue eyes met Hisana's. She looked refined, regal, even, as she expelled a heavy breath from her blood-red lips. "What is your price?"

The question stunned Hisana. Her eyelids fluttered as if _blinking _could vanquish the words hanging over her. But, all she could do was blink, flustered. The impact of the sentiment had knocked the air clean out of her lungs. She was reeling. A feeling that persisted for what felt like _hours_. When she recovered—finally able to draw breath and wet her throat—her lips trembled. She could not form the words. Her anger amplified into rage before morphing into _horror_.

In her darkest moments, she _assumed _they thought her motives were financial. But, to hear it spoken aloud cut her to the quick. It was more painful than she had imagined, and she had a pretty _vivid_ and _active_ imagination.

"I don't have a price," she said evenly. She inclined her head, and her expression became still, unreadable. Her gaze was measured; there was nothing to see in her eyes. She concealed her agony well. She had learned from the best, after all. _Byakuya had rubbed off on her_.

Aunt Mai's lips curved into a frown, and her face became pinched. The hollows of her cheeks suddenly became more pronounced. Her eyes darkened, and the wrinkles around her lips deepened. She was _displeased_ and not entirely _convinced_. "Everyone has a _price_." While her voice never sounded above a quiet murmur, its sharpness scalded Hisana's soul.

"I don't."

"If not money, then what? My nephew's reputation is worth ten thousand mansions to my family and to me. There must be _something_ that you desire."

Hisana lifted her head and inhaled a deep breath as she considered the offer. There _was something_ that she desired. She longed for her sister. She wanted desperately to right that past wrong. She would do _anything_ to find atonement.

Perhaps, she did have a price after all, and this realization shook her, triggering fault lines in her heart until she was visibly shaking. She couldn't—no, she _wouldn't_—betray her husband. She loved him deeply, madly. She loved her sister the same. They were her world in equal measures. Her contrition and her loyalty were bonds forged so strongly that only death could break them.

"Leave," Hisana said in a cool but measured voice. In an instant, a bright resolute flame lit her eyes and liquid fire surged through her veins, energizing her once weary mind.

If she had been a member of the Eleventh, she would have raised her sword against such an offer. Her honor, her pride, and her bonds were not for _sale_. Not then. Not ever.

Aunt Mai inclined her head. Her brows lifted, and she inhaled a deep breath. No, she did not move, and Hisana was certain that she had no intentions of submitting to Hisana's sudden power play. To have done so—to have _obeyed_ Hisana's order—would have meant that Hisana was in power. It would have legitimized Hisana's authority. It would have solidified Hisana's role in the family.

Aunt Mai was of no mind to do any legitimizing or solidifying. Not yet. The Kuchiki elder remained unquestionably resolute in her efforts to destroy the pending nuptials. Hisana would not be the Lady of the House. To fathom such an outcome was impossible.

"Do not make me repeat myself," Hisana murmured coldly. Her eyes hardened, and she held her breath. If will alone could crush someone, then Aunt Mai would have been ash. But, Hisana's words and looks had no effect on the Kuchiki noblewoman. If anything, Aunt Mai appeared somewhat _amused_.

"I apologize," Aunt Mai began with a regel arch of her head, "but your words have no power here. Not in the noble halls of _my family_."

A white-hot rage simmered in the back of Hisana's throat. Words, biting and cruel, rose in her chest. "I—," Hisana began, trying her best to pull the reins on the anger nipping at the back of her throat. Before she had the chance to unleash a scathing retort, the slamming of wood against wood grabbed her attention and pulled it to the door.

Byakuya stood, wearing his perfectly crafted mask of apathy. His ennui seemed to have seeped into his bones. Not a sliver of emotion marred his fair features. A cold unfeeling pallor painted his countenance. Lifting his head, he eyed his great aunt. "I have business with my _wife_. I believe your meeting was concluding as it were," he said in a mechanical monotone.

Aunt Mai's eyes widened into a look of _horror_, and she searched Byakuya for the meaning of his words. Her complexion blanched, and her lips parted as she inhaled a sharp gasp. Clearly, Hisana's title had taken her aback, and, just as clearly, Aunt Mai's mind labored to reject the possibility. "Lord Kuchiki," she began, pleadingly. Her expression screamed: _Please take back your words. Please tell me that you were being dramatic when you called her your 'wife.'_

"Hisana," he said, ignoring Aunt Mai's clear distress.

Not needing him to extend her another lifeline, Hisana quickly moved to the door. She bowed politely in Aunt Mai's direction. "Good day, Lady Kuchiki," she murmured.

"The next time you wish to make an appointment with Hisana, I would prefer to accompany her," Byakuya stated flatly before drawing the door closed.


End file.
